That Sinking Feeling
by FourSilverArrows
Summary: Sheppard gets that sinking feeling in the middle of a Wraith culling. Then things go from bad to worse! Warnings for language and violence. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

I don't own and I certainly am getting no money.

Spoilers: The Siege, 38 Minutes, The Eye, The Storm, possibly more.

Edited on 1-25-06 on the advice of my beta.

Beta: J.A.B.

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Chapter 1:

With concentration, he pulled himself higher in the muck only to lose half of his gain when his left arm gave out. He grunted in frustration and tried to recover only to give up and just settle for not sinking even more.

The closest thing to his muck was a narrow strip of firmer ground with a multitude of spider-like roots sticking out of the soil. Most of the area has the roping roots above the ground. Some even hung over small pools of water.

They were also partially to blame for his current predicament.

Given the time to think about it, he would probably appreciate how close this resembled the red mangroves he saw when he visited Florida. How the roots intertwined like lovers in the moist ground. Right now, he's not noticing too much.

The old roots kept him from going down immediately into the sticky goo. Their rough, limb-shaped tubes made for good handholds in the darkening landscape.

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard knew he was in serious trouble. Bug sucking on his neck, Wraith Hive ships in orbit, Genii taking over Atlantis trouble. Except this was personal trouble, not something that was threatening the whole expedition.

"Damn it," he muttered as his body gave an involuntary shudder as it lost heat to the clammy mud.

Of course, he couldn't just be stuck in mud; he had to be stuck in cold muck. It was slowly stealing away all of his body heat.

His knees and hips were hurting from the cold and his feet had been numb for the last five minutes.

"Where the hell is everyone?" he hissed as he tried to stay still and pull himself up at the same time.

The rest of Sheppard's team was out there . . . somewhere. They'd scattered when the first Dart had strafed the town they were visiting on P2M-649.

This was a trade deal mission for Dr. Elizabeth Weir and a little subtle hinting for a longer alliance against their common enemies. They needed more friends out here in this place. Friends they could go to in an emergency, places they could send wounded if Atlantis was overrun by one of their many kick ass foes.

A few minutes ago, Sheppard had been sure that someone would come across him in the retreat to safer ground near the caves and give him a hand out of the viscous stuff.

Now, John was beginning to panic as his strength started to fail as his body temperature dropped steadily and his muscles began to feel like jelly.

The muck made a sucking sound and he felt a tightening around his hips. A pulling as his fluid heavy pants and web belt tried to slip off his hips and down his body into the depths.

Hell, his pants were probably slipping as well.

It would not be funny to be rescued from the muck and then having to end up standing around in his clinging boxers in front of his team.

Especially in front of Teyla.

John could see it all now.

Teyla would smile slightly and raise an eyebrow. That would mean she was having some mysterious woman thoughts and maybe a private joke over the situation.

Ronon would just grunt and go back to the business at hand. Maybe later, when they were back home, the ex-Runner would make a quiet and seemingly innocent comment in front of all of the Marines in the gym. The rest of John's day would be spent warding off smiling Marines as they tried to dig the details out of him. Completely without respect for his rank, of course.

Rodney would just smirk. The 'I have something on you sooo good that you'll have to help out in the lab whenever I ask' smirk. Hell, he may even have a camera to document the event and threaten to show them to Elizabeth.

Or post it on his main lab's bulletin board.

John shifted his hands on the hard roots and tried to keep in tight with the small strip of drier ground.

He wanted – no, he needed – to be found now.

John knew he was quickly leaving rational thought behind the longer he stayed in the muck.

The Colonel wanted Rodney McKay to walk out of the undergrowth and mangled roots right now. Rodney could be smiling at his victory overcoming his distaste of the musty smelling place or have a pout because of getting the grimy mud and stagnate debris on his uniform.

At this point, John didn't care.

Teyla was great and calming, Ronon was super and strong, but John didn't want them, he wanted his best friend.

It was that little part in him that wanted someone close to him to be nearby while he was fighting for his life. Almost like a child who wants his favorite teddy bear when he has to go to the doctor's office. Not quite, but almost.

Sheppard wouldn't even mind losing his cool or breaking down in front of Rodney this time. He knew Rodney sometimes panicked in situations like this – where there seemed that someone was going to die. In the past, John had tried to keep calm enough to keep Rodney calm. He didn't think he would be able to this time.

Rodney couldn't hold it against him if he was dying, could he?

John let his head drift down until his forehead was touching his outstretched arms and tried to get some rest as he was hanging on.

"Colonel!"

The strident call make Sheppard snap his head back up and blink.

Finally, a voice in the wilderness!

But, it wasn't Rodney's.

Teyla pushed her way through the undergrowth and roots to kneel on the small strip of dirt as close as she could to him in the roots. Well, the part of him that was above the sticky cold mud.

"You . . . okay?" he stuttered.

"I am fine. I did not encounter any of the Wraith as I left the town." She looked over her shoulder as a Dart screamed overhead. It was a chilling sound. "More Wraith have arrived through the stargate. It is beginning to look like a 'scorched earth culling.'"

'Scorched earth culling' was a term Major Lorne had come up with after reading the latest horrifying report of rabid cullings and after having seen one up close. This was the same Major Lorne who had started the usage of the term 'sucker' in the Marine population on Atlantis in reference to the Wraith. The guy was almost as bad as Ford in giving things and situations labels.

"The others?" he asked, as the slight cold tremor grew stronger. Damn, the stuff was cold.

"Ronon is helping with the defense of the emergency shelter in the caves." She hesitated before continuing. "Dr. McKay left us in an attempt to locate you with his LSD a short while ago."

A tingle momentarily cut John's cold. Rodney was looking for him in the middle of a culling. What more could you ask from a best friend?

Then the tingle was cut by a heavy dose of fear.

"Rodney's out here on his own?" He tried to twist around in a futile attempt to see Rodney over the knobby trees, brush and roots.

Visibility was almost zero from his level.

Teyla's angular face softened a bit. "He would not be stopped. Even Ronon stepped out of his way."

"Wow," Sheppard muttered absently. Rodney backed down Ronon? He should have been there to see that.

John shivered again as he felt the sucking pull that was trying to take him down into the darkness and the cold.

He wasn't happy about Rodney being in the middle of a major culling alone but he did want to see him. Soon.

"Teyla—"

She seemed to understand his urgency and nodded. "The radios are still working for the moment. I will try to contact him."

John felt relief. His radio was deep in the muck along with his 9 mil and his P-90.

Teyla spoke quietly into her radio a few steps away as he closed his eyes and tried to keep his grip. John slipped slightly and felt a pain in his left hand. He peeked out of one eye to see that scarlet blood marked the bark of the roots.

Damn it, now he was bleeding.

"Teyla?"

She came back and did that thing she did when she sat on her heels without using her hands for balance since her hands were full. Man, she must be strong to do that.

"Rodney?"

Teyla nodded, her P-90 across her knees and ready for action. "He is nearby and coming."

Good, 'cause he didn't want to die without his best friend. He had already done that one time, when the Wraith were near Atlantis and he had attempted to deliver a deathblow. With a 'so long' he had bounded away to meet his death.

If not gladly, then at least with purpose. He had to save Weir, Teyla, Ford, his Marines, and the civilians. He had to save the City of the Ancients for future study and future breakthroughs.

Had he really stopped to say goodbye to Rodney or looked the exhausted scientist in the face, he would never have gone.

What kind of friend does that?

Weir, he could deal with as she questioned him about his decision. They were leaders and they had responsibilities to protect. She understood. He would be a means to an end and, even if she would grieve for him, her expedition and her people would have a chance to survive.

Rodney, on the other hand, would have argued until he was blue in the face. He would have proposed ten strategies that may or may not have worked in time to save Atlantis. He would have argued John right out of a suicide run. From killing himself even if it was for a higher purpose.

Right now, John wasn't seeing a higher purpose in being killed by cold mud. He wasn't ready to die on some small world that he had just found out about yesterday in the middle of a Wraith culling.

Where the hell was Rodney and his ten scenarios that may or may not work now?

There was a sudden crashing as leaves and branches shoved aside with force. A round and flushed face came into view.

"Colonel!" Rodney's voice was discordant and irritated.

"Missed you too, Rodney," murmured John as his hands slipped again and the hungry mud pulled him in just a little bit deeper.

McKay looked stunned at the sight as if Teyla's report over the radio had somehow been a joke.

"The Colonel is getting weaker. He is lower in the mud now than when I first found him," said Teyla in a quiet voice.

It was a wake-up call and a call to action meant for McKay. He was always good at solving problems, but neither John nor Teyla knew if sucking mud was something he could solve.

There was a pop-hiss of their radios and Sheppard was irritated that he couldn't hear the message.

"The Wraith are massing in the town. Many have been taken and still they search for more." Her usually calm voice now carried an edge of disgust mixed with bitterness.

Sheppard understood. Her people and the people of the Pegasus Galaxy had long lived in fear of the Wraith. They had a head start in the 'hate the Wraith' department, but those in Atlantis were quickly catching up.

John's strength was going and he leaned back in to rest his head on his right arm. He still couldn't rest like this, but his muscles were starting to go from jelly to hurt and cramped. He let his eyes slide shut for a moment.

"Colonel?" Rodney sounded almost fearful.

"I'm okay, just . . . just tired."

He felt a tugging and opened his eyes to see Rodney trying to use John's vest to pry him from the muck with just muscle strength.

"You know, I've . . . I've heard that the force needed to pull a stuck foot out of quicksand is the same as you would need to . . . lift a car," stuttered John from a combination of the cold and the pain of the pulling on his cramped body.

"Shut up, I'm thinking. And this is not quicksand," replied Rodney as he let go with a huff of breath and tried to study the problem more closely.

John retightened his grip on the roots and tried to keep calm.

Teyla was tilting her head as if listening to something in the distance. "The Wraith are coming," she snarled. She wanted to be back in the battle but she also wanted to be close to her friend in his time of need.

"Go," said John. "Help Ronon . . . at the caves." Hell, he would be at the caves himself if he hadn't fallen in this damn mud trap.

"Colonel—"

"Rodney, she can't help me right now. Ronon and the others need her more." He didn't say that Ronon could also use McKay's help. John was just that selfish right now to want a witness if he lost his battle and slipped away.

He tried not to think of Rodney's reaction if that happened or of the scientist being left alone in this out of the way little place after watching someone he knew sucked under to die.

With a sigh, McKay looked at Teyla. "When they're gone . . . bring the Puddle Jumper. Maybe if we had enough power or something." He was grasping at straws. "And call Beckett."

Teyla nodded again and looked at Sheppard. "Colonel." It had many layers of meaning when she said it like that. She hoped for him, she wanted him to hang on until help could come, she was glad to have known him.

Sheppard didn't get the chance to respond as she swept away into the darkness to help the townspeople and Ronon survive the culling.

Rodney was quiet for a while as they listened to the Darts and the gunfire in the distance. And the screaming—

"You need more support," muttered McKay as he dragged over some of what looked like a cross between blue vines and hanging moss that swung from the imitation mangroves.

John didn't reply, he just watched with heavy lidded eyes.

In a few moves, Rodney tied the vines to John's vest and then tied the other ends to the closest sturdy looking roots he could find.

Almost instantly, John could feel the vest digging into his shoulders and stomach as the vines tried to take some of his weight.

"Feel better?" asked Rodney from the solid strip of ground. His expression was hopeful and slightly distracted. Most likely thinking up new plans.

"Sure," lied John. It wasn't good to distract the genius at work.

The radio pop-hissed again and McKay stiffened.

Damn, John hated being out of the loop like this. "What?"

"They're . . . the Wraith are searching the swamps for survivors."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Revised on 1-26-06 on advice from beta.

Beta: J.A.B.

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Chapter 2:

Where the Earth-like swamp appeared just irritating before, it now took on a sinister cast just knowing that the Wraith were stalking survivors.

There were echoes in the spidery trees – men, women and children – all of them screaming for help, begging for mercy, calling for loved ones in the gloom.

More often than not, the screams just severed into nothingness. Most likely stunned into submission or scooped up by the roving Darts that buzzed the sky like a swarm of angry bees.

Sheppard shuddered again as he lost yet more body heat to conduction. He told himself it had nothing at all to do with the wild culling or his worry about his team.

A movement close to John drew his attention to Rodney's pale face. He was clutching his 9 mil still in the holster with his right hand as he crouched down next to John's shivering form in the mud.

Rodney was unusually quiet, but John didn't have the heart to interrupt his thoughts.

Hell, he didn't want to have any thoughts right now.

"How long have you been in there?"

The question was a surprise and John tried to kick his frozen brain back into action. "Uh, I don't know. Five minute?"

Rodney knelt closer and looked at the muck. "Cold?"

John just shuddered. That was answer enough.

"You're slurring your words a bit," remarked Rodney as he let go of his gun long enough to strip off his vest and jacket. Under the jacket was a long sleeved shirt in deference to the cool planet they had came to visit instead of the usual short sleeve with the sporty stripes.

"Really?" Sheppard tried to focus a little more, especially since Rodney seemed to be stripping for some reason. What the hell would stripping do to get him out of the chilly mud?

Rodney put his vest back on and then leaned out over John with a hooked foot under a looping root to keep his balance.

The scientist's dark uniform jacket with blue insets settled over John's achy shoulders and the bluish vines tied to his vest for stability. It didn't fit tightly to John's body due to the rigging and his own vest, but he could feel it. Sheppard almost moaned at the bit of warmth that still clung to the jacket and that had managed to reach him.

When had he gotten so icy cold? Damn, he knew the muck was a little cool, but he hadn't noticed this frozen feeling. Somehow, he hadn't noticed, and it scared him a bit.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

That seemed to reassure Rodney as he went back to studying the problem. Every few moments his eyes would flit to the surrounding trees, vines and undergrowth looking for signs that they had been found.

There was another shifting down in the mud and John could feel another pulling sensation. The pain was sharper, he grunted, one hand staying on the roots, and the other going to pull at his vest as it cut into his sensitized abdomen and his shoulder blades. He didn't have the strength to make a difference.

He didn't look up when he felt a warm hand tugging on his right arm. "Colonel? What's happening?"

Rodney was starting to panic. He wasn't quite there yet. He still wasn't rubbing his fingers together as he did when he was nervous or agitated or thinking in emergency mode. However, he was starting to get that edge to his expression and his voice was higher.

John was glad he wasn't the only one who was voting to lose it in the next few seconds.

"Don't know . . . sometimes shifts . . . pulls me down."

McKay didn't release the Colonel's arm as he let go of his gun and experimentally put his free hand in the mud. "Huh, that is cold. Shifting? Where?"

"Under." Sheppard felt so tired that the words were coming slow and his eyes were getting heavy.

"You shouldn't be sinking as long as you're not moving. Quicksand—"

"Said it wasn't . . . wasn't quicksand."

Rodney waived his mucky hand, flinging off some of the mud onto the nearby roots. "I know what I said. It's not quicksand . . . and it's not a tar pit . . . it's not exactly a bog," his voice went soft as if he was muttering to himself instead of to his friend. "Are you still sinking?"

Sheppard looked down at the muck pressing in around his vest. A pocket that was once clear of the muck was now covered except for the top of its flap. "Yeah."

The hand on John's arm tightened.

That was the moment the skies on P2M-649 decided to open up and let loose sheets of rain. Chilly and bitter rain.

"Damn it!" hissed John as the cold wetness hit his head and rolled down his neck.

He didn't know what was worse. The cold of the pulling muck or the cold of the wet rain as it invaded his clothing and pounded his hair flat.

Rodney just sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I had been thinking it couldn't get any worse. It seems that I've been proven wrong." His long sleeved shirt quickly became soaked by the rain and it clung to his flesh causing goose bumps all over his body. "I hate being wet and cold."

"You're . . . you're from Canada," reminded Sheppard.

"I'm from Indoor Canada, not Outdoor Canada. I was never far from environmentally controlled buildings."

Sheppard huffed a bit at that in an attempt to laugh. He stopped when it turned into a croupy cough that shifted his ribs against his pulled tight vest. His hands slipped again and his clumsy feeling fingers had difficulty finding their holds to relieve the pressure.

He gasped, if not in pain, then in surprise at his own helplessness.

McKay suddenly jerked up on his right arm and placed it back on the root. "Here."

"Thanks."

The hand stayed on his arm. It was the one beacon of warmth in John's narrowing world.

"You know, I think that when you get stuck in the mud at the bottom of quicksand that they say it's best to stay as still as you can and to carefully try to mix in the water until your feet pop free." It was said contemplatively as Rodney was looking up at the rain, letting it pummel his reddened face and slick back his hair.

"Uh-huh. That's . . . that's for quicksand, Rodney. It has . . . has water in it. This is like . . . like . . . you know . . . mud."

"I know that, but look." Rodney nodded to the hated muck.

John slitted his eyes against the spattering of the large rain drops hitting the mud to see small pools of rain collecting on top of the muck. Like when it rained on saturated soil, the water had nowhere to go and it ended up standing in puddles.

Hope flared briefly.

Rodney picked up his hope and ran with it. "Maybe if we tried to mix some of this in around you—"

There were sounds nearby. The sound of the pounding rain muffled the planet's natural noise, but both men knew the sounds of several heavy bodies moving through the swampy landscape.

Either it was a skill you picked up early or you ended up dead in this hostile part of the universe.

Hope turned into a controlled kind of dread.

"Rodney . . . hide."

The hand on the Colonel's arm got even tighter. "Now, wait a minute. If I go hide, you'll be a sitting duck, an open target, a—"

John took a moment to snicker in a whispery way. "If you don't go . . . we'll both be sitting ducks. Won't be good if we . . . both get caught."

McKay looked livid. "I'm not leaving you defenseless. What if it's a Wraith?"

John shook his head. "You know . . . Wraith. No doubt."

McKay pulled out his 9 mil and offered it butt first to Sheppard. "Use this and I'll try to contact Teyla on the radio. Maybe someone can come."

John was shaking his head and closing his eyes before Rodney even stopped talking. "You've . . . seen. I can't hold . . . a gun anymore. Too cold. You'll need it more . . . than me. Go hide. Now."

Maybe he could have held the gun, but he was the downed member of the team. The liability. As much as he wanted Rodney to be with him, he couldn't let his friend's life just be sucked away by some Wraith, just to watch John sink.

Hell, Rodney was pretty good with a gun anyway. Right now, he'd probably score more hits if the Wraith were ready to attack.

"Colonel—"

There was a long pause and John forced his eyes open enough to look at McKay. Even in his half-hazy state, he could see the wheels turning in the scientist's head.

Rodney's voice was excited when he finally spoke, his hands, with the gun, waived in the air in expansive moves. "Just stay still. If you see them, act like you're unconscious. Don't talk, you understand?"

John blinked heavily. "Okay."

Rodney patted him on his wet head absently. "Put your head down and wait for me. Don't do anything stupid this time."

"Nothing . . . stupid. Okay. Go."

Sheppard was surprised as Rodney practically slithered away through the mud and over the slick roots. Soon, he was gone from view.

And what little warmth John had gotten from his presence was gone with him.

John signed and laid his head back on his arm and he tried to keep breathing without coughing in the rain and the back splashing muck.

It wasn't hard for him not to move or talk when the sounds came closer. John was too tired and wrung out to put up much of a fight when the Wraith left the cover of the underbrush and homed in on him.

There was movement next to his exposed cheek and he cracked his eyelid open to see a ghastly face with sharp teeth close to him. Even in his lethargy, it took a lot not to flinch back from the pale thing.

The creature took a deep breath, sniffing at him as if it was a shopper at a supermarket trying to decide if the cantaloupe was ripe enough to buy.

"Ah, this one, he smells different than those in the town. Take him."

The strangely graceful creature moved away and two thickset soldier Wraith stomped up and all but ripped his hurting body from the muck.

As much as he tried to be quiet, the hard tugging of the vines against his vest and the suction of the mud on his joints made him grunt in pain. Damn, where was that high threshold for pain when he needed it?

McKay's jacket fluttered to the wet ground with a splat.

The graceful one returned, his luminous eyes curious as he fingered the vines that still connected Sheppard to the roots. Then he looked at the extra coat on the ground at their feet.

Then hissed.

"There is another here. Find it!"

The strong hands let Sheppard go immediately, causing him to hit the exposed roots of the mangrove-like trees and the wet ground with a grunt. Where he could still feel the pain from the cold, he could feel the roots and debris on the ground digging into his flesh.

As he tried to curl around his hurts and tried to push away from the danger, the vines that were once a lifeline were now tethers to his death.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Revised on 1-26-06 on advice from beta.

Beta: J.A.B.

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Chapter 3:

If hearing a culling was bad, then seeing it was gut wrenching.

As she ran back to the caves and Ronon, Teyla saw many people taken after she left the swampy land. No matter the method, culling beam or being physically stunned, it was a vicious reminder of Wraith dominance and power.

They were plucking this place clean of people as easily as she used to pick berries when she was a child helping the gathering groups that provided for her village.

Teyla did what she could as she ran, but a lone warrior with one P-90 and a 9 mil could do little to stop the atrocities that flashed by her. She didn't even have the time to spare to regret or have compassion for these almost-allies and what may have been a wondrous treaty that would have benefited three cultures.

Her fighting abilities were needed now, not her horror or her anguish.

"Ronon!" she called over her radio. "I am near the caves. Be prepared for my arrival."

The ex-Runner's voice replied with a husky grunt. "I'll try not to shoot you."

He didn't seem to be joking.

When she finally arrived, the bolts from Ronon's energy weapon where lighting up the darkness in red flashes as he took out soldier after soldier, their white thickset bodies littering the ground.

Some of the townspeople who were lucky enough to have escaped the initial attack were doing their best to help in the defense. Their weapons were crude compared to Ronon's gun and Teyla's P-90, but they were managing to kill what Wraith who blundered into their kill zone.

Desperation and the threat of annihilation were great motivators.

There was no time to take stock of how many where in the caves, Teyla just secured herself close to Ronon and let her mind and body settle into the battle tempo of killing without conscious decision. In times like this, all of her training during her childhood, and her newer abilities gained from the Atlantis Marines, allowed her body to respond with practiced and ingrained moves.

Darts tried to get near to the caves to take the survivors. Their culling beams cut close, but the rocky overhangs blocked most. A few defenders were unlucky enough to be caught outside the protection, and their forms sparkled away into nothing.

Except for a scream or two from a friend or loved one, there was no time to mark their disappearance.

"Sheppard and McKay?" asked Ronon's rough voice as he lined up for another shot. His face flickered in the low light, his expression moved between fury and a deeper maniacal grimace left over from the days that he was Hunted to the edge of his sanity.

"In the watery lands," she jerked her head to indicate the direction. "The Colonel is trapped and Dr. McKay stayed to defend him."

Ronon grunted again in approval.

The little man had surprised him earlier when Rodney had insisted on leaving the protection of the group to go look for their leader. Not just insisted, he had demanded with a hard edge to his expression that didn't bode well for anyone who tried to interfere with his plan.

Ronon had stepped aside, letting Rodney go unmolested and Teyla had followed him— hoping to speed up the process so they could make it back to the caves that much quicker.

McKay was like a never-ending twittering bird sometimes, but he was honorable and showed a great capacity for determination and loyalty. Ronon was almost reluctant to admit he was starting to like the hyperactive and egotistical man.

"Good," was Ronon's only reply to Teyla's comment.

"Have you tried to reach Atlantis?" asked Teyla and then had to move as a Wraith soldier took aim at her. She shot it down, ignoring it when the runny dark stuff that served as its blood mixed into the rain to join the growing stain upon the land before them.

She turned to sweep the area to locate more. It was becoming increasingly difficult to tell the difference between the Wraith ground force and the wispy illusions they used as distractions.

"The gate's still active. Can't get through."

'Of course,' thought Teyla, 'the Wraith would keep the gate active so there would be no escape for these poor people.'

She muttered in her rising temper and took it out on two more Wraith soldiers that she still wasn't sure were real. It only took a second for their bloody forms to confirm that they were solid, and dead, after her attentions.

Then she could only watch as another townsman was dragged away, to be taken back for his life force to be drained from his body. Her angle was difficult for killing the Wraith but she was tempted to fire anyway.

Better for the man to be killed by a friendly bullet, than for him to be terrorized as a Wraith hand clutched his bare chest and ripped away his years.

In the end, she just turned away to kill what enemies she could and to push the terrified man's face out of her memory.

"We can do little here," she spat out as she pulled the trigger and to let out a long burst of fire at the ghostly figures in the dark.

Ronon just grunted.

-------

It seemed perfect. The perfect plan.

Rodney wasn't strong enough to get Sheppard out of the mud, but the Wraith were.

They would see a potential meal trapped in the mud pit and they would drag Sheppard out with little physical effort. Then there would be no need for the Puddle Jumper or ropes or waiting for the culling to ease before getting help from Atlantis.

Rodney would call for backup during the Wraith 'rescue' and maybe Ronon or Teyla could make it back to help him take out the Wraith, and to retrieve the Colonel before Sheppard was taken off world.

They would have surprise on their side in the middle of the chaos of the culling, with the Wraith occupied by Sheppard and the others.

And if Ronon and Teyla were still busy at the caves, he would take out the Wraith by himself.

He was a good shot. Even if sometimes he got too excited to remember to reload his gun. He was better at doing the reloading automatically now after a little more practice with Sheppard and Ronon.

It was no problem.

Sheppard would give him that grin and they would go back to the caves, fight the Wraith off and go home.

At some point, there would be praise for the plan and his excellent plan making ability.

Rodney shifted in barely suppressed energy, waiting for his time. The perfect time for the perfect plan.

As the Wraith rescued the Colonel from the mud, Rodney tried to put his perfect plan in motion before Sheppard was used like a cocktail weenie appetizer before the big buffet of beleaguered townspeople.

Uneasiness hit Rodney when there was no answer to his radio calls back to the cave. He felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cold rain as his mind raced to give him horrible images of why Ronon and Teyla were not answering him.

He could almost smell the blood as his inner eye splayed out their dead bodies in gruesome detail. They were dead at the caves, broken in the fight, life sucked out of them, captured, and waiting for their end in a holding cell . . .

The dull uneasiness elevated as the surprise part of his plan went right out the window as the lead Wraith ordered the other two to search the swamp after inspecting the lethargic Colonel, the vines and the extra uniform jacket.

He hadn't even thought about his coat being around Sheppard. Rodney took a second to glare at the treacherous garment. Why hadn't he thought of that? It was so obvious!

Rodney crouched down in the wet; his dark pants smeared with muck, as he wiped the rain from his eyes and tried to find a place to hide. The scientist didn't notice when his hands trembled and his body shivered.

He spared another moment to glance at his friend to see if he was still alive and relatively safe. He saw Sheppard on the ground and feebly tugging at the vines. Rodney let out a breath of relief. At least Sheppard was out of the muck and still conscious.

With an expression of revulsion, McKay turned away and slid under another tangle of slimy roots, as he started calling for help again.

"Teyla! Ronon!"

If that last name came out in a squeak, he didn't notice as the sound of large feet splashed toward his hiding place.

-------

The cold rain eased a bit allowing John a clearer view as the enemy searched for Rodney.

Damn it.

He weakly pulled against the vines, but they seemed too strong just to pull free. He contemplated taking his vest off, but his clumsy fingers didn't seem to want to hold the little tab to pull down the zipper.

Double damn it.

He wasn't happy about just lying in the rain and waiting for the Wraith to drag him away to be someone's evening meal.

John shuddered as his body tried to reheat itself as he lay on the ground with roots and rocks probing the more delicate parts of his body.

Maybe he should start wearing an athletic cup on these missions. And maybe a helmet. Although the helmet would probably flatten his hair, it would give his back his cocky pilot look.

He tried to move again and all his joints decided they were going to complain about their ill treatment and the weather. He hissed quietly to himself and tried to rub some feeling into his hands and then he felt a burning needle sensation.

This was Rodney's plan?

Leave him with a possibly hungry and pissed off Wraith?

He might not be thinking straight after spending some time in a cold mud hole, but John was sure he would have come up with something better than this.

Well, he was pretty sure.

John took a quick look to make sure Rodney was still in the clear, and sighed in relief as the Wraith continued to look in the underbrush with impatient motions.

Go, Rodney.

With half-numb, half-burning fingers, John probed his gunbelt to discover his 9 mil had not survived the muck. It was a shame, really. He liked that gun. It had just the right balance and he'd named it Wynona.

John Crichton's weapon was named Wynona on the Farscape television show. He remembered a firm discussion he had with Major Lorne about the naming of his weapon. Remembered the look on Lorne's face when—

He abruptly shook his head hard enough to see sparkles in his vision. His rain-flattened hair spiked up as the droplets flew to the ground. What the hell was wrong with him? Now was not the time to let his thoughts wander down memory lane.

John rolled slightly and felt the back of his belt for his knife.

It wasn't his favorite thing, his favorite weapon, but it was good for cutting and poking at things he didn't want to touch with his hands.

He took a moment to eye the lead Wraith as it stood watching the searching soldiers. It seemed to be ignoring him and if that was because it didn't see him as a threat, or it was just that sure of victory, John wasn't sure.

As quietly as Sheppard could and with as little movement as possible, he tried to hack through the blue vines. Sons of bitches were tough to cut, especially with his fingers feeling like they were two sizes too big and his shoulders hurting from the strain of holding on to the roots earlier.

The blade slipped more than once, leaving cuts in his uniform and on his hands.

-------

"T . . . la," hissed the radio. "Ron . . . n!"

Teyla stopped to catch her breath behind a boulder and she tried to make out who was calling her. It had to be Dr. McKay, but the signal was broken and distorted by interference.

"Dr. McKay? Are you and the Colonel well?"

The transmission stopped and she heaved a sigh born of frustration and guilt.

It had been hard to leave the two men behind. As a leader, she was often a protector – of the weak, the hurt or the downtrodden.

Her time with these people from Earth and the time she served on Sheppard's team was a new experience. On the team, she was expected to follow orders even if she disagreed with them.

That was not how it worked with her people. All of those who were able had a say in the protection of their homes. There were discussions amongst the leaders to find the correct path that would benefit them the most.

Communication was necessary for their survival and for the community to stay together.

Sheppard was from the Earth's 'military.' When she first met him, she saw how his leader, Sumner, gave orders and expected them to be followed without question or hesitation. And even though she saw Sheppard's tightly controlled rebellion against the orders, he was similar in his need to give orders and to have a clear channel of authority with his team and his soldiers.

Most of the time his orders were sound, but sometimes his want to protect his people overrode common sense and self-preservation.

Eventually, she came to understand him a bit more and made her own decisions after getting her orders. Sometimes, John Sheppard himself needed protection.

It was an insight that she tried to pass on to Ronon since he was new to the team. Sometimes it took more than her vigilance to keep the hardheaded military leader of Atlantis in one piece.

She saw both the need for the control of authority and the need to protect in Sheppard's face when he had ordered her away from the swamp. He wanted to protect her, Ronon and the townspeople left behind in the caves.

Wanted them to have some cover during the battle, even as he was left open and sinking into the mud.

She understood it, but she didn't have to like it.

Teyla did wonder why the Colonel had allowed McKay to stay behind. As much as they fought and as much as they pushed each other, they were friends with a deep bond. Someone that Sheppard would strive to protect in a situation like this.

Another blast came from nearby and she glanced at Ronon's fluid form. From the way he was viciously taking out whatever came into his sights, he was not pleased at the separation from the Colonel or McKay either.

Teyla didn't startle when the figure of a man fell against the boulder to her right side, taking gulps of harsh air. She gave the figure a glance and identified it as the town's Director, the one in charge of the day-to-day running of the community, and the one who had been in charge of negotiations for the treaty.

"Where is your Colonel Sheppard? Where is the help?" asked the man in a loud, dazed voice. His stressed face was moist with fear-based sweat and rain, and his breath was heavy. The man looked about to break from the strain.

To him, these new people had seemed secure and powerful, with strange weapons and technology that allowed them to fly. His hope for a better future had leaked throughout his town and his people viewed the visitors almost like some sort of saviors.

Their complete failure in keeping his town safe amidst the carnage was almost incomprehensible and he was desperate for any sign from Colonel Sheppard and his team that they were going to be able to help end this fight.

Any help at all to keep his people alive and safe . . . for his culture to survive.

Teyla understood. Watching your people and way of life being destroyed didn't allow for clear thinking.

"He is there," she replied shortly, indicating the mangrove-like trees and the watery muck.

At his wheeze, Teyla turned her full attention to the shivering man. "What is it?"

"How long has he been there?"

Teyla allowed a frown to form. "For some time. He was trapped in a pit filled with mud and he was unable to get free. Dr. McKay stayed behind to help him."

"Oh, dear," muttered the man, his hands shifted restlessly against the rock, and his eyes showed further disillusionment. "We didn't have time to tell you of our Sodden Lands."

Two Wraith captured Teyla's attention and she jerked up to send them to the ground with her P-90. "I do not understand," she hissed back at her rock companion.

"I'm afraid if your Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay do not return soon, they may never return. Wraith or no Wraith."

Her eyes were hard as she turned on the man. "Explain!"

The Director was a broken man, but he still felt fear as the female grabbed his arm with a rough hand.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I was distracted by a plot bunny that will never see the light of day. Also, I made a reference to Spaceballs. Sorry, I couldn't help it.

A/N2: Thanks, Mom!

Warnings: Violence and Language

Spoilers: The Defiant One, possibly more

-------

Rodney scuttled deeper into the cover of the growth, still trying his radio in a near whisper. Just bare puffs of breath as he tried to get some contact without the two beefy Wraith hearing him over the patter of the rain.

With his gun in his right hand, his left hand was fretfully searching all his pockets to see what he could possibly use to get them out of this mess his 'plan' had created.

Rodney found a partially eaten chocolate ration bar that he was almost tempted to eat to gain what little comfort he could. Sometimes a little chocolate was all he needed when he felt lost or alone or ignored.

Another harsh splash came from in front of his patch of brush and he shrank back.

He wasn't lonely or ignored right now so he moved on to his next pocket.

The next pocket held a small set of tools meant for delicate work on small parts. He'd used them to fix his hand held computer a couple of times, dismantled a few Ancient devices in his lab – he even took apart the coffee machine when it started giving him brown goo instead of his usual jolt of smooth caffeine.

Since he didn't know what help they would be right now, he moved his left hand in a patting motion, trying to feel what was in the pockets before he actually stuck his fingers inside.

A lump of something hard made his hand stop and he actually had to take his eyes off the surrounding area to figure out what he had found.

Huh, a roll of quarters. Where had he procured a roll of U.S. quarters?

The hand holding the roll shook slightly.

Oh, yes, the Colonel had promised some nonsense about getting a candy machine put in the lab the next time Caldwell and the Daedalus returned to Atlantis. Sheppard promised it would be filled with nothing but chocolate and chocolate-coated things, none of those stupid peanut butter crackers or cheese nip things.

They were just a waste of productive candy space.

Rodney snorted as he pocketed the find and went back to his search as he tried to wiggle back a little more under the protection of a tangle of roots.

His lower pocket had extra clips of ammunition. That was something that Lt. Ford had drilled into his head before the man left Atlantis on his wild Wraith hunt. Rodney fingered the clips to get a mental count

Ah, yes, plenty of ammunition to . . . to do whatever it was that he was going to do.

With a suddenness that surprised the scientist, the cold rain stopped.

Rodney looked up through the roots and gaped at the dark sky. Well, that was one less thing to worry about. At least he could possibly warm up a little without the cold stuff soaking him.

He shivered again as his body tried to warm up.

-------

The vines were cut, the knife still in Sheppard's hand as he lay trembling on the ground.

It took a moment for John to notice the puddle he was laying in was filled with blood. Red human blood. He tried to leap back and bit back a moan as his joints gave him hell again. By the time the pain went down to something he could handle, the puddle was nothing but ordinary cold water.

Shaking his head in confusion, John looked out into the darkness with narrowed eyes.

Rodney was still on the run, which was good.

The lead Wraith had taken up the hobby of hungrily watching Sheppard's every move, which was not good.

"Hey, uh . . . hard to find good help . . . these days," stuttered John to the graceful evil that sneered at him. "Seems Larry and Curly are having a hard time . . . finding anyone out there. Could be 'cause . . . there's no one to find."

When he didn't get a response except for a horrible hiss, John cleared his throat. "What say we . . . pack it up and go on back? I'm sure you've . . . got better things to do."

The pale face with the intricate black tattoo over the left eye twisted its mouth into a grin that showed a lot of blackened teeth. The Wraith was clearly not impressed with anything Sheppard had to say.

The thing shifted to kneel closer, causing its long bundled white hair to swing around its face. "They will find the food."

John's tremor had nothing to do with cold this time. The food? The mental imagery that word called up in his mind after a night of culling chilled him to his bones.

A crash of underbrush caused both of them to look toward the two searching Wraith soldiers.

When it was clear they were still empty handed, the Wraith turned cat-like eyes back on its prey. Lips pulled back in a smile so wide that it appeared almost more like a grimace. "Perhaps you could call to your kind. Maybe an incentive—"

Oh, that was so wrong on so many levels. "I'm not calling to anyone for you . . . here or at the town. There is no incentive you can . . . give me to betray . . . like that."

A large hand came at John and he tried to push back and hide his knife at the same time. It grabbed his vest in a powerful grip that reminded John that, on a good day, he most likely couldn't go head to head with the creature. And today wasn't a good day.

"I know of your kind from the others," it hissed. "You were at the city. Too bad it can help you no longer." It ran a long spindly finger from its other hand along John's cold cheek. "I wouldn't turn down help if I were you – it could mean the difference between a lingering death and a quick one."

It took everything John had not to use his knife to get the thing off him. Every feeding he had ever witnessed rushed back and made his skin crawl.

Darkness and wispy tendrils swirled at the corners of his vision as the thing peered intently at him. Studying him as if he was a pinned bug under glass.

Sheppard shook his head to clear away the phantoms from the Wraith's mind. "Either way . . . I'm dead. I'm not helping you to kill anyone else."

With a snarl, the thing pushed him hard against the ground and turned away, its long leather coat swirling around to fling water drops at Sheppard's form.

John pulled in a deep breath and let it out.

Some days it just didn't pay to get pulled out of the mud.

-------

Rodney had nothing.

Why didn't he have a grenade or something more useful than a roll of U.S. quarters? Ford would be disappointed in him.

What did he think he was going to do out here if they were attacked? Ask the Wraith if they need change for a dollar? Maybe buy them a cup of coffee at the local convenience store and talk them out of eating them for breakfast . . . and lunch and dinner.

A glob of mud fell onto his left eye from his plastered down hair and the scientist swiped at it absently and looked around at the brown and black landscape as he rested and tried to catch his breath.

And think of a new plan.

His retreat from the two soldiers had taken a circular route and he was again coming up to where Sheppard had been stuck in the mud. Rodney could barely make out Sheppard's form on the ground in the dark as the lead Wraith paced restlessly around him.

As much as McKay hated it, he knew what he had to do.

There was no backup, no rescue coming and no working radio.

Rodney slowly got to his feet and bounced slightly to warm up his knees in the middle of a bunch of spindly trunks that used to be living trees. He put his left hand on one of the larger tree trunks to push off when he was ready to make his move.

There was nothing to do but rush out and hope he got a good head shot in before the Wraith could turn on him or Sheppard. Or before the Wraith soldiers caught up.

And remember to reload this time.

Rodney breathed in deep and then puffed the air out of his cheeks, trying to steady his nerves. He made an abortive move toward Sheppard's position . . . and stopped before his left hand moved on the tree trunk.

'Come on,' he half coaxed and half blasted himself. 'You can do this. You've done this.'

A few more bounces and he finally darted out from cover and went right for the enemy.

The Wraith turned with a hiss, its head coming up to show bared teeth like a dog warning off a rival. For a moment, its form looked deceptively ungainly before pulling out its stunner pistol with surprising speed.

Without looking for the Colonel's position, Rodney pointed his 9 mil and fired, hoping his hands weren't shaking too much to get the kill shot.

Instead of a gunshot or the sound of a stunner, Rodney felt and heard a roar as his vision whited out for a moment. His next coherent thought found him lying on the ground.

With watery eyes, Rodney caught the sight of curling smoke as it drifted into the dark sky from his seared clothing. His head felt as if it was being pounded with a sledgehammer, and his ears were ringing.

What—?

"Rodney!"

The sound of his name was faint due to the ringing in his head. In a daze, McKay moved slightly to feel pain radiating from his face, hands and neck. He groaned and tried to figure out what was happening.

"Rodney!"

That call was a bit louder and more desperate than the first and Rodney forced himself up on his left elbow to see a blurry Sheppard struggling with a blackened Wraith.

The black leather clothing of the Wraith was scorched, and the pale skin was almost black, causing the cat eyes to pop out in startling contrast. The most shocking aspect was that the Wraith's pale hair was on fire on the tips of its dread locks. The wet hair gave off smoke that wreathed the creature's head like a crown.

Even though the Wraith was clearly on fire, it was still trying to kill the writhing form on the ground in front of it.

"McKay! Get the hell over here!"

Rodney saw the flash of metal in the low light and the Wraith howled as Sheppard's knife sank into its leg. It reared back and, with an open hand, slashed Sheppard across the face with its sharp nails.

Rodney automatically raised his gun and vaguely noticed his own hand was blackened and red.

Understanding seeped into his cold brain. An explosion – he had set off an explosion when he had fired the gun.

Taking the chance that whatever gas he had set off had cleared after the explosion, Rodney fired his gun again and let out a breath as the shot took the Wraith down and away from Sheppard. Pushing himself up from the wet ground with his burning left hand, Rodney tracked the creature with his gun and fired again.

The blackened figure gave out a noise that sounded like fingernails on a blackboard so Rodney fired again.

It jerked, its eyes glaring hate at McKay as it tried to bring up the stunner for a shot.

McKay shot again as he slowly advanced in staggering steps as his new pain dictated his movements. He allowed his left hand to curl into his body in an attempt to sooth the burning ache.

He kept firing until he was beside Sheppard and the gun was out of ammunition.

"Reload," whispered John as he curved an unsteady protective hand over his ripped face. The hand didn't touch the torn flesh, but Rodney knew Sheppard wanted to touch his face as much as Rodney wanted to touch his burns.

"I know," huffed Rodney as he fished out his extra ammunition.

The Wraith struggled in the mud, and it opened its mouth to speak or snarl. McKay wasn't sure which and at this point, didn't care. He fired another round into the open mouth and black blood flew out in a small geyser. The body jerked twice before it went still.

Then it was just McKay and Sheppard in the darkness.

"So, this was your plan," murmured John as he lay in the muck trying not to think about how they were going to get back to the others at the caves.

Rodney sighed and slumped down next to his friend and tried to keep his tired and stinging eyes open to look for the other Wraith that had been following him.

"What can I say, I was confident."

Sheppard rolled slightly to get a better look at McKay's sooty face. Then he smirked. "Well, confident is good." He rolled back and scanned the darkness. "What happened to Larry and Curly?"

"Who?"

"The Wraith that were . . . tracking you."

"Oh." Rodney felt as if he was thinking in slow motion. "Back there." He sloppily waived his gun hand. "Somewhere."

Sheppard tried to sit up and, instead, he ended up flopping back over onto his side. "What the hell happened? One minute you were running from out of nowhere, and the next, we're going up like flambé."

"Swamp gas or something like it. Really, I should have known—"

"Look."

Rodney turned in the direction Sheppard was looking, and he saw the two Wraith soldiers lumbering toward them through the gnarled trees and roots.

Both raised their stunner rifles and shot.

The first bright bolt sparked off a larger explosion in the trees, sending bark, wood and clumpy white flesh in all directions in a heavier, bloodier version of the cold rain from before.

The second stunner bolt sizzled over the head of John Sheppard.

"Son of a bitch!" gasped John as he jerked down and ran a shaky hand over his hair as if checking to make sure it was still there. "Give me your gun!"

Rodney snorted and allowed his body to slump in relief. "Oh, please! There's nothing to shoot at now. Besides, your hair is still as awful as usual, Princess Vespa."

A few more pats and John seemed convinced that his hair had survived. "What . . . what does that make you? Dot Matrix?"

Eyeing the smoking trees and clumps of Wraith flesh, Rodney snorted. "I hope not. My virgin alarm would have worn itself out by now. I mean, how many alien women have made goo-goo eyes at you since we arrived in the Pegasus? I've stopped counting."

John just laughed in a strained mixture of tension and giddiness.

-------

Teyla was furious. Her eyes were like chips of obsidian as the town Director wound down his explanation. "And you did not think to tell us this before we began negotiations?"

The man shifted, still holding his arm where the woman had grabbed him forcefully. "There was no need. We were not going into the Sodden Lands during the treaty negotiations, and I didn't think any of your people would go there intentionally."

Another Dart screamed overhead and they both ducked.

Another red energy bolt shot from Ronon's position, but it hit only Wraith phantasms. Ronon swore.

Teyla understood the sentiment. "Do you have healers – doctors that can help the Colonel and Dr. McKay?"

The Director looked miserable. "No, the . . . the clinic was the first building hit in the culling. We'll be lucky if one or two doctors made it out. If they did, they would only be able to offer what comfort they could for Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay's last days."

Teyla's nostrils flared. "Enough! We will call our own doctor when the Wraith leave and the gate shuts down."

The Director was about to speak again when there was a small explosion and a fireball appeared above the swampy land.

Teyla gasped. It was in the same direction as the Colonel and McKay. "What has happened?" she demanded, keeping her eyes on the remnants of the blast.

Before she could get an answer, another explosion rocked the area and a bigger fireball rose into the gloomy sky, illuminating the nearby trees with red and orange light.

Ronon was by Teyla's side before she could call to him. "Sheppard and McKay?"

She nodded, unable to use words. What could be said after seeing that?

Three Darts streaked overhead toward the explosions only to swarm up and return to the decimated town.

"They're leaving," remarked Ronon in his rusty voice.

The nearest survivors quickly took up his words, and the information swept around the caves to those that were lucky enough to escape the culling.

There were cries of relief and anguish at the news.

Teyla and Ronon ignored it as they waited impatiently for the gate to shut down so they could dial Atlantis and call Dr. Beckett and Dr. Weir.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

A/N: Thanks to those that have reviewed. I'm not sure if my replies made it through since I noticed I had my PM disabled.  
A/N2: Medical procedures . . . not my strong point. If anything is correct, it is purely by accident.

Beta: J.A.B.  
Edited on 1-27-06 for suits/suites!

Spoilers: The Hot Zone, Poisoning the Well, possibly more

-------

The gate was a beautiful sight to Teyla as Ronon dialed Atlantis. The whoosh and the stable puddle of sparkling blue light that reminded Teyla of the waters around Atlantis went a long way to sooth her rattled nerves.

Not that her calm face indicated her rattled nerves to Ronon.

Ronon, on the other hand, didn't care who knew that he was frustrated and pissed off. His lips had been twisted into an almost permanent snarl since the fight at the caves. He even muttered things under his breath, but Teyla didn't need to hear them to know what he was saying.

Having lived with warriors all her life, she could guess the gist of his angry self-monologue.

"Colonel Sheppard?" was the immediate reaction to the gate activation and open wormhole. Dr. Weir's voice held the steel of her authority and the worry for her most experienced off world team.

Weir knew the experience had been hard won during the many difficult missions Atlantis' first team had fought and lived through. Now, it seemed there was yet another hardship that would force the team to face yet another difficult learning experience, possibly with loss of life.

"Dr. Weir, it is good to hear your voice. We are in need of help from Dr. Beckett and his team." Teyla was proud that her voice stayed steady as she talked to the female leader of the Earth expedition.

There was a pause in the communication and Teyla could almost envision the tightening of Elizabeth Weir's lips and the deepening of the small lines on her forehead. "Who is injured?" The question was professional, but her voice betrayed a thread of worry.

Ronon shook his head in irritation, letting his long hair slap against his shoulders with a pitter-patter sound. "Like she has to ask?" he muttered in a rough growl almost in Teyla's ear.

"Ronon," hissed Teyla. Sometimes she felt as if she was the de facto mother figure of this team of men. They seemed long on the ability to cause trouble, and they were short on manners and tact most of the time.

She wondered if Dr. Weir ever felt the same way.

Most likely.

"Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay had been forced into the Sodden Lands by a Wraith culling. The people who live here on P2M-649 had some very . . . disturbing things to say about what happens to people who wander into the swamp."

"A culling?" Weir's voice took on a new tone, one that conveyed anxiety at having been out of communication with her people long enough for a culling to have taken place. Long enough for her people to have been taken—fed upon—with her none the wiser until they missed the check in time.

"It was a very . . . disturbing experience, but the Wraith have now gone." Teyla looked around at the smoldering ruins and at the bodies too damaged for the Wraith to bother dragging away. "There is nothing left to do but hope for a recovery for these people. Many were taken."

There was a murmur of voices over the open link as Weir asked for Dr. Beckett. "Understood. I'll have Dr. Beckett here in a moment. I think it would be best if you debrief him directly about what may have happened to John and Rodney."

Teyla nodded wearily, not caring that Weir could not see her response.

-------

Rodney was tired, cold and sticky with mud; and the half chocolate bar in his vest pocket was calling his name.

Literally.

What?

McKay jumped and started slapping with his blistered and burned hands at the pocket that contained the suddenly vocal candy.

'Rodney, you know you want me. The Wraith are gone. Sheppard is sleeping. Ouch! Don't be this way Rodney!'

McKay jerked the chocolate out and threw it into the mud, the pain in his hands forgotten as he brought his gun up to target the candy warningly. He was afraid the damn thing would try to claw its way back to him.

He whimpered as he suddenly had the disturbing mental picture of the chocolate trying to force its way down his throat as he choked and coughed.

Rodney slowly started to shimmy away, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief as the chocolate on the ground did twitch in a slightly threatening manner.

'You can't eat me if you leave me here, Rodney. I'm getting all muddy.'

Without turning his head from the candy, Rodney started yelling. "Shut up, you! Colonel! No, no, no, no. I'm not hearing talking candy," Rodney hissed to himself. His left hand wiped nervously at his mucky pants. "It's the stress. Yeah. Seeing Sheppard stuck in the mud and then having the Wraith hunting you through the swamp. Stress. Colonel!"

He chanced a look to see John Sheppard with his eyes closed, lying in the cold mud. There was no movement. Maybe the candy was right and Sheppard was asleep.

"Colonel! I've . . . uh, we've got a problem. Wake up!"

The candy started to move across the ground. With a squeal, Rodney staggered back on shaky legs and almost lost his grip on his gun.

"Wake up!"

With a snort, Rodney jerked awake, Sheppard's hand still shaking his shoulder. "Watch out! The chocolate!" yelled the disoriented scientist as he shot upright to look Sheppard directly in his glassy eyes.

Rodney's right hand, his gun hand, was pointing over Sheppard's shoulder and toward the muddy swamp.

"Gee, McKay . . . I knew you could sleep anywhere . . . but in the middle of this stuff?" The Colonel shook his head, eased himself into a sitting position and tried to make out Rodney's face in the dark. "And . . . you do know that mud is not chocolate. Right? Or . . . did you have a bad . . . dream?"

Rodney's breath was whistling in and out, panic stamped all over his face. He didn't begin to calm down until his left hand poked into the chocolate bar's pocket to find it still safely ensconced.

No talking candy. No moving candy.

The nightmare started to fade but the adrenalin still pumped through his veins, making him jittery and nervous.

"Uh, no," Rodney squeaked before clearing his throat and lowering his shaking right arm. He wanted to frown because the Colonel witnessed him in the middle of a nightmare, but his face was stiff and sensitive to his movements. "Anyone call?"

Earlier, Rodney had handed over his radio and his gun before trying to get comfortable while waiting for rescue. Of course, that was after a short argument with Sheppard over McKay leaving him to go get help. It only took a few shaky attempts by both to stand to demonstrate that neither of them were in any shape to make it back without assistance.

At last contact, Teyla had at least known of Sheppard's troubles. Therefore, help should be coming. Eventually.

Sheppard shook his head and stuttered out a sigh. "No . . . haven't heard a thing."

"Oh." Rodney took a quick look at the sullenly dark sky. "Sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep," he mumbled in embarrassment.

"Are you . . . breathing okay?"

Rodney jerked his head back to look at Sheppard, again trying not to frown. "What?"

"You took . . . that explosion in the face."

Rodney tried to waive away Sheppard's concern, but stopped when his hands prickled with an uncomfortable throb. "My breathing is fine. For the moment." Panic began to creep in again. "Do you think I might have a delayed reaction? Yeah, yeah, yeah! I wasn't eaten by the Wraith but I could die slowly from a swollen airway. Choking for air—"

"Rodney—"

Forgetting the pain, McKay's arms started to flail. "Like a beached fish. Gasping for air! Beckett getting here about three minutes too late to do anything for me. Maybe I'll see a white light and a long tunnel. Oh, god, you don't think my dead Aunt Delia will be waiting for me? That woman hated my ever living guts and I wouldn't put it past her to—"

John's hand suddenly grabbed Rodney with surprising strength, even with the Colonel's current weakness, "It's fine, Rodney. You're fine. Just watch out for your hands. You need them . . . for your job."

John didn't want to mention the possibility of infection because of the burns to Rodney's hands, and because of Rodney's exposure to all the brackish water and slimy mud. Rodney was already wound up enough.

Rodney looked at his flapping hands and abruptly he curled them into his body for protection. He did need his hands—for a lot of thing. "Okay, watching out for the hands." He cleared his throat again, struggling for some control. "Are you okay?"

Sheppard tapped the radio twice and then he scowled at the slight hissing sound in his ear. "Yeah . . . I'm fine."

McKay snorted in disbelief as he saw Sheppard shivering again, making his hand on the earpiece shake. "You look it and sound it. My jacket is still over there if you need it."

They both slowly turned their heads to look at the soggy, blue paneled jacket lying on the wet ground. Still in the same place where it fell off John's shoulders as he was pulled from the mud pit by the Wraith.

"It's wet and muddy," said a disgusted John as he tried to wrap his arms around his chest to keep what little heat he still retained from escaping into the moist, cold air.

"You need to stay warm. It will help," insisted Rodney. "And you're already wet and muddy."

John shook his head. "Okay, but you go get it. I can't seem to move right now."

Rodney made a small noise of agreement, even knowing he probably couldn't pick up the sopping material with his burnt hands. That is, if he could make it over to the jacket to begin with.

Sheppard also knew he probably couldn't make it either.

McKay sat staring at the discarded coat with a focused look and slumped shoulders.

"Luke, use the Force."

"What?" blinked Rodney, his concentration broken for a moment.

John huffed his breath onto his cold hands and rubbed his arms. "We're on an alien world and . . . you're staring at that jacket as if you're trying to . . . raise an X-Wing out of a swamp."

"Oh, well I'm sure if it can be done, I can do it." He turned his glare back to the unresponsive coat. "I do use a lot more brain power than most on this expedition. A lot more."

The coat stayed exactly where it was. It seemed almost to mock him and his huge brain capacity.

Damn coat.

-------

After his talk with Teyla, Dr. Carson Beckett was in a foul mood as he supervised his medical team, and the packing of their supplies.

He really, really hated off-world missions.

"Do you really need all of this," asked Weir as she dodged two scampering nurses holding big bulky blue suits, and she barely caught herself from falling over a stack of boxes.

Elizabeth swallowed hard as she recognized the blue containment suits that had been used when the city had been locked down during an outbreak of the nanovirus.

"Aye. From what Teyla tells me, we'll need this and more." Beckett seemed reluctant to speak, but he shook his head and continued. "Now, I know this will be unwelcome news, but I don't think I can bring them back to Atlantis for treatment."

"What!" Elizabeth's eyes were wide and her shoulders were thrown back as if she were getting ready for an argument. It was funny that in times of crisis she seemed almost more military than civilian when she clasped her hands behind her back like that. "Carson, I've read the report on that society. They don't have the medical technology to—"

Carson understood. Truly, he did. He wasn't happy about it himself. "Now, you know what happened when the nanovirus was loose in the city. The city took steps to protect itself. I really don't want the whole city to lock down as soon as I bring them through the gate."

"Can't you put them in hazmat suits? The city ignored Teyla and John when they were in hazmat suits during the emergency."

Carson sighed and leaned against a stack of supplies. "Aye, it did, but the Colonel and Teyla were not infected with the nanovirus and the suits kept them clean. It may be a different story this time, and I don't know if the city will like us bringing in two, maybe more, contaminated personnel through the gate, suits or no suits."

"I don't like it," replied Weir softly. "There was a culling there, Carson. There's no telling how much help or equipment will be left in the town for them or for you."

Carson smiled wearily. "No troubles. I'm sure you'll be glad to lob what we need through the gate."

She reached out a hand and patted his elbow. "Anything you need, Carson. Anything to get you all back safe and sound."

-------

The Colonel appeared to be sleeping again, but Rodney wasn't sure. McKay took his right hand away from its tucked position long enough to check Sheppard's breathing and pulse.

Having taken his own pulse several thousands times since he read that symptoms of diseases book when he was eight years old, he could do it without looking at a watch.

He frowned when the Colonel's pulse seemed weak and thready.

Maybe Rodney's burnt hand was keeping him from taking an accurate pulse.

Sure.

The respirations he could tell just by looking at the rise and fall of his friend's chest. It seemed shallow, but he'd seen Sheppard on overnight missions breathing just as shallow when the team had to share sleeping space in some mud hut or some patch of bare dirt.

So, hopefully, Sheppard was okay.

Rodney's rosy diagnosis was contradicted when John's body shivered and he tried to curl into a tight ball in the cool mud.

McKay sighed and looked at the peaceful sky. It was soothing with the new dawn colors of pink and yellow highlighting the puffy cream-colored clouds. Just like a fairy tale view depicted in some kid's book.

Very different from the horrifying star-studded blackness that supported screaming Darts as they scooped up living beings to be fed upon by the hungry Wraith Hive.

McKay shifted a little closer to Sheppard, hoping to share what little warmth he had left even though he knew it probably wouldn't make a difference at this point.

Rodney carefully pulled John closer with his forearms under his friend's arms and hugged him to his chest. The scientist slipped his arms under John's moist coat and let his curled hands rest on John's cold back. Sheppard's head fell forward to lay on McKay's shoulder.

Rodney then let his head thunk against a raised tree root and contemplated the morning sky's display as he hoped with all his heart that Sheppard would be okay until help arrived.

They had given up the radio vigil since all that came through was static and the gun was securely in Sheppard's leg holster since neither one would be able to fight off a swarm of gnats at the moment let alone fire off a 9 mil.

McKay didn't know what the Colonel had thought, but Rodney was sure that the time for rescue was getting close. He believed it like a man lost in the desert is sure that water is just over the next dune or just past the next expanse of sand.

And he knew his team. He knew Carson and Elizabeth.

The culling was long over; Teyla and Ronon would have contacted Atlantis by now. Elizabeth and Carson would be along as soon as they could with help. Probably bring an army of nurses and techs and stacks of warm blankets, and coffee.

Rodney was still contemplating the wonders of hot coffee when Sheppard unexpectedly shifted.

"No sounds," whispered a hoarse voice near Rodney's ear.

McKay flinched and shifted to look at Sheppard's tired face resting against his vest. "What?"

Hazel eyes opened long enough to look past McKay at the empty swamp with the stands of trees and tangles of roots. "No sounds, no moment, no life . . . not like Florida."

Rodney carefully scrunched up and looked around for animals, lizards, bugs or other crawly things, but there was nothing. "Seems good to me. I already have muck in places I don't want to contemplate. I definitely don't want to be picking this place's version of leaches out of my underwear when we get back to Atlantis."

John didn't seem to hear him as his glassy eyes gazed at the brightening sky. "Doesn't seem . . . right."

Then he was out again.

McKay tried to keep his rising panic under control until medical help could arrive, and he could relinquish his friend into their care.

Then he could break down in comfort once he was safely ensconced in an infirmary bed with clean sheets and all the Jell-O he could eat.

-------

Teyla was waiting at the stargate when Dr. Beckett and his team came through with several cases of equipments and supplies.

"Ah, Teyla, how are you?" asked Carson as he carefully put down the case he was carrying, and as he surveyed the area with a veiled nervous look.

The Athosian leader felt a brief flash of affection for the poor doctor. He was never completely comfortable being away from his infirmary on Atlantis.

It was completely understandable that he was tense after his previous experiences with unfamiliar cultures. The results were often painful for the man.

"I am fine, Dr. Beckett." She let her P-90 hang from her vest as she leaned in to help with the quickly rising pile of equipment. "The Director of the town has inspected their medical facility and he says that it is safe for you to use."

Carson seemed to relax slightly. "That's good news, love. Lead the way."

Teyla slowly nodded her head, looking at him with that sideways glance she used, the one that made her look wise and completely in control.

Carson felt his anxiety slip a little further into the background as he let out a breath. He had patients who needed to be found and transported to the medical facility.

Time was wasting.

Beckett started organizing his teams and they struggled to the town to set up a field hospital of sorts.

-------

Ronon was getting impatient. It had been hours since Teyla last saw Sheppard and McKay. For all they knew, Sheppard was dead and McKay was lost in some tainted fog somewhere in the swamp.

Teyla had left to meet Dr. Beckett and help him with his supplies, so Ronon was left in the town to guard the medical building that would be used for Sheppard and McKay when they were found.

Ronon shifted and let his hand caress his gun. It was still set to 'kill' and he wasn't in a hurry or in a mood to change the setting.

The people of the town were beginning to give off strange vibes that put the former Runner on edge.

Sullen and bloody people from the caves were collecting in the streets. A dull murmur of strained voices came from the small mob.

Dark looks were thrown at Ronon, and hands were raised as small arguments broke out amongst the crowd. That led to more dark looks at Ronon and the building at his back.

Ronon caressed his gun again and let the butt stay in his hand.

Mobs were never good.

-------

McKay looked up and laughed.

So what if it had a slightly hysterical tone?

"What?" slurred Sheppard as he woke from his stupor.

McKay shook his head and he just nodded for John to look.

Sheppard painfully turned from McKay's shoulder to see big blue blobs coming in their direction through the mangrove-like trees and roots.

The big blue blobs seemed to be having a difficult time getting through the tangles and vines.

"Bloody hell!" snarled an accented voice as two slim trees tried to pull the contamination suit from Beckett's back.

Sheppard snorted. It wasn't exactly a laugh, but it was the best he could manage since he was feeling like hell. "Seems like Doc . . . to the rescue."

McKay let out a fretful breath. He let his doomsday predictions about their health fall away at the sight of Carson Beckett and four of his personnel. Gently, he lay John on his back in the mud and patted him on the chest as Sheppard made a sound of pain.

Rodney watched the approaching figures with happiness until he recognized what the blue suits were . . .

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A/N: If any of my medical stuff is accurate, it is purely by accident.

A/N2: This came out a little talky. McKay and Beckett just wouldn't shut up this time. So, yes, this chapter ran a little longer than the others.

Beta: J.A.B.

Spoilers: The Hot Zone, Runner, Rising, maybe more

-------

"Oh, my god," whimpered McKay.

The blue blobs were now close enough for Rodney McKay to see Beckett's face through the windowed hood of his blue containment suit.

"What?" slurred Sheppard from the ground, not understanding the problem. Beckett and his team had found them and that was good enough for him.

McKay didn't answer, only stared in morbid fascination at the horrifying things from his nightmares—nightmares that contained nanoviruses, screaming dead colleagues and dancing blue containment suits.

"Hello, Rodney," greeted the softly accented voice of Dr. Carson Beckett. His voice seemed cheerful, but to Rodney's ears, it sounded forced. "With all these blasted roots we thought we'd never find you."

"The suits . . . y-you're wearing the suits," stuttered Rodney.

Carson awkwardly stooped down to look at the semi-aware Colonel Sheppard. "Colonel? Can you hear me?"

Sheppard forced his tired eyes open wide and gave a weak grin. "Blue's a good . . . color for you, Doc. I think . . . I might be a little . . . blue myself."

Beckett leaned in closer, mentally cursing the lowered visibility through the hood of his suit. He noticed the blue tinge to Sheppard's lips and his pale skin. "Aye, that you are, Colonel. We'll have you fellows back to town for some nice warm clothing and maybe some nice warm broth."

"You let me have coffee instead . . . and I might propose to you, Doc."

Carson chuckled and then motioned his people forward with the first litter and the emergency packs that carried the supplies. "It wouldn't be the first proposal I've received from a happy patient, Colonel."

Beckett purposely left himself wide open for a mocking remark from Rodney, but there was nothing. Carson shifted to see that Rodney was still sitting on the ground with his mouth and eyes wide open on his reddened face.

The first litter stopped next to Sheppard and Carson helped the weak man up from the ground and held on to him until John collapsed onto the canvas with a groan. A blanket was flicked out over John and, with shaking fists, he tried to clutch it up under his chin.

The next litter was motioned forward and Carson again turned to Rodney. "Now you, Rodney. Up you go now," he said calmly with his gloved hand on the scientist's shoulder.

McKay would have pushed the helping hand away if his burnt hands didn't hurt so much. His eyes refocused on the doctor as his brain chugged into thought. "Carson! You're wearing the contamination suits!"

"I'll have to tell Dr. Zelenka he was wrong about you being slow on the up-take, Rodney. Now, here you go."

As McKay and Beckett did a small dance, with McKay trying to glare at Carson and Carson trying to get Rodney on the litter, Sheppard's ride was moving away. The Colonel was grunting with each swinging motion of the litter as his bruises and strains complained.

Finally tired of the dance, Rodney forced his stiff and painful left hand to grab Beckett's suit. "Carson, what is it?"

"It's just a precaution, Rodney. Here we go now. We'll be back to town soon." Carson kept his eyes on the litter.

Rodney suddenly gave up his handhold and fell back onto the canvas, causing the two men holding it to stagger.

"Oh . . . my . . . god. We're going to die. You don't need to sugarcoat it for me, Carson. I can take it."

"Rodney—"

The thought of impending death caused a sudden infusion of adrenaline to hit McKay's system, chasing away his exhaustion and putting him in a state of giddy worry.

McKay's gaze turned inward in dismay. "Makes sense in a twisted way . . . we survive the Wraith, the rain, the cold and the mud to horribly die of some alien disease. I'm so young . . . too young . . . I can't go like this. It should be while I'm saving a planet full of people, and them having to say nice things about me at my funeral—"

"Really, Rodney—"

"Maybe Stargate Command can tell everyone I died a hero, you know, as a sign of respect for my great and many contributions here in the Pegasus." McKay paused for a moment. "Carter might even cry over me—she always regretted missing her chance with me."

"Rodney!"

The babbling man turned his head sharply against the litter canvas to look at Beckett. "What, can't you see I'm dying here?"

Carson heaved a sigh. "This is why I don't tell you things having to do with medical conditions. Or let you borrow my medical books. Your hypochondria just had its merry little way with you just now, didn't it? You're not dying, Rodney," said the doctor in a weary voice.

At least, Beckett hoped Rodney wasn't dying.

McKay narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You're wearing the suit, Carson. I've seen you in one before and—oh, guess what—people were keeling over left and right at the time."

"Precaution," insisted Beckett stubbornly as he reached out to steady McKay as they lifted him over a tangle of roots.

"Really?" The desperation in that one word was almost heart breaking. "You're not just trying to break it to me gently?"

Carson shifted his shoulders from side to side, uncomfortable with Rodney's longing look. "Well, it's most likely just a precaution."

"Carson!"

Beckett's lips twitched under his hood. "I'm sure you and the Colonel will be fine. I will need to look you over—take a few samples and do a few tests. You'll most likely have a perfectly lovely stay in the town's charming medical facility. Just like a vacation."

Rodney tried to frown without moving his facial muscles. "In town? Wouldn't it be better to go back to—wait a minute! You lying . . . you think we're infected with something and that we'll trigger a lock down in Atlantis if we go back!"

Carson kept walking, trying for nonchalance, but wasn't sure he was carrying it off in the bulky suit that made him look like an overgrown blueberry. "Yes, a nice, warm bed and all the warm blankets you need. Won't that be grand, Rodney?" chirped Beckett, completely ignoring Rodney's hot glare.

Rodney opened his mouth to reply with a sharp and possibly witty comment, but subsided and contented himself with muttering a few choice words under his breath.

-------

Teyla had joined Ronon in his guard duty in front of the town's medical facility after Beckett's personnel no longer needed her help. They had both watched Beckett and four of his team leave to search for the Colonel and McKay and saw the sullen expressions of the surrounding crowd.

Teyla knew that Dr. Beckett planned to care for the survivors of the town after seeing to Sheppard and McKay, but she didn't know if it would be safe after what she was witnessing right now.

Even after Beckett had left, the mob had continued to grow as more frightened townspeople emerged into the daylight to see what and who had survived the Wraith culling.

Teyla recognized a few people who had been near Ronon and herself as the culling took place. Some had even handled the town's primitive weapons and helped defend the caves from the Wraith.

Their earlier valor dissolved the moment they looked upon the state of their town and their people.

The buildings were still eerily standing unscathed as if nothing had happened. The only structural damages to the town proper were a few knocked down fences and posts.

The only evidence of the actual culling were the Wraith and human bodies from the fierce ground battles that took place as people tried to protect themselves and their families when they were cut off from help.

As the enormity of the loss penetrated the shock of the survivors, despair and anger swept through the mob like lightning. Each member fed off the others in a vicious circle that pushed the emotions higher and higher.

"Dangerous," grunted Ronon as he grinned fiercely at a man who broke from the mob and came too close to the medical building. Ronon's blaster was drawn and pointed at the man's groin.

The man decided to retreat to the safety of the crowd.

"I agree. I do not believe the Colonel and Dr. McKay will be safe here for long," responded Teyla as she tilted her head to keep an eye on what looked to be the two ringleaders of the mob.

One of them appeared to be the town's own Director.

Usually the calm center of the team, Teyla tried not to allow that part of herself fall away when a disheveled woman stepped forward with an old knife in her hand.

"You people! You were to be our saviors! Why did you allow my children to be taken? Did we not offer enough to be considered friends—to have the protection of your weapons?"

Teyla understood the woman's anger and guilt at surviving when those closest to her had been taken by the Wraith. She was sure that Ronon also understood after losing almost his whole civilization to them, but he would be less likely to be considerate of the townswoman's raw feelings.

Teyla stepped slightly forward to catch the woman's glare so that her teammate would be less likely to aim his blaster at the new threat. "Of course you are our friends. We helped as many as we could at the caves."

"Helped?" The woman's laugh had an edge of brittle hysteria. "Helped? Look around you. Over half of us are gone."

She stumbled back to the mob to clutch at an older man's shirt. "Here! Jaken's wife and mother!" She staggered from him to another man, not noticing when her flailing knife cut the top of his shoulder. The man didn't seem to notice it either. "And Korl's father and four brothers! All gone!"

Ronon, trusting Teyla to handle the frenzied woman, shifted to watch the mob as a few people began to bob their heads in agreement. At the same time, others were beginning to gain enough courage to approach the medical building and its two foreign guards.

"I too have felt the loss of loved ones due to the Wraith," said Teyla in a commanding voice. "My village barely escaped destruction. My people, and Colonel Sheppard's people, can help you rebuild."

The woman just laughed again. A high and keening sound that grated on everyone's nerves making the mob even more edgy.

"They better get here soon," muttered Ronon as he pulled his battle sword to back up his energy blaster.

Teyla only nodded as she hefted her P-90.

-------

The litters were now almost side-by-side as the muddy Sodden Lands fell behind the small medical team.

Beckett called a halt long enough to pile more blankets from the emergency packs onto his two charges now that there were no roots or underbrush to snag them off.

Rodney rolled his eyes as he tried to keep the rough material from rubbing against his hands and face.

Sheppard, on the other hand, just burrowed deeper into his blankets.

"Is he okay, Carson?"

Beckett turned from the Colonel at the concerned tone in Rodney's voice. It wasn't often that Rodney made a friend, but when he did, he latched on tight. Even if he wouldn't admit it out loud most of the time.

"He's just cold, beat up and tired right now, Rodney. Once we get him back and properly looked after, he'll be fine."

Rodney waited until the litters were moving again. "What about his face?"

"Hmmm?"

"His face," repeated McKay. "The Wraith slashed him with his fingernails. That can't have been hygienic."

Dr. Beckett moved closer to Rodney and briefly touched his covered leg in reassurance. "Aye, I'm sure it wasn't, but we'll take care of it. Now, why don't you just rest until we get there? You've had a hard time of it. You both have."

"Sure-sure," mumbled McKay as he turned his head to see Sheppard's spiky hair peeking out of the bundle of blankets.

-------

The town's Director met Beckett's team at the edge of the settlement, wringing his hands in anxiety. "Doctor, I'm afraid that there has been an unforeseen development."

Beckett stopped the litters and frowned at the fretful man. "What has happened?"

"My people . . . they are angry and frightened. They didn't mean to—"

At the sudden stop in the words, Carson got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What is it, man?" he demanded, his accent growing stronger with his fear for his personnel, Ronon and Teyla.

"They-they have gathered near the medical building. Some are insisting that you will refuse them medical treatment just as Colonel Sheppard refused to stop the Wraith culling. They tried to raid your supplies and—"

"Good God, I'd never refuse to treat anyone. Where in the world did they get such a daft idea?"

There was more hand wringing from the Director.

Carson sighed deeply and shook his head. "You told them that and you should bloody well know better. You know I was planning to see the injured when I returned from looking for our people in the swamp. I've also seen the reports on the treaty talks and I know we've offered nothing but our total support to your people."

"But, there was no support! Where was the flying machine? Where were the weapons? I—my people don't understand!" cried the man, his face turning red.

Carson turned away slightly, ignoring the distraught man. Since they were so close to their objective, he activated his radio and attempted to contact Teyla and Ronon.

All he heard in reply was static.

"What ever you've done, you best pray that they are not dead," said Beckett harshly as he moved to Colonel Sheppard's side.

Carson hated to do this to the ailing man, but Beckett was no soldier and he needed some instructions about what he should do next.

-------

Ronon didn't have time to answer his radio as it clicked.

Teyla's radio was lying on the ground—smashed and bloody—from a rock that caught her on the side of her head. She was now bleeding, the blood streaking her forehead and her cheek.

Ronon rumbled in his chest and raised the corner of his lip. The cowards hiding in the writhing mass of the mob threw more rocks. If Ronon knew which ones were doing it, they would be dead right now.

Several men already lay at Ronon's feet—some were unconscious and a few more were holding gaping bloody wounds.

The ex-Runner didn't hold back when his teammates were threatened. It was almost a relief that he could use his skills and his fury for something.

"Teyla," he called as he saw a flash of blue from the corner of his eye.

Teyla didn't turn at his call. She kept her eyes on the turbulent people. "Go and help our people. I will hold back the mob as long as I can," she said over her shoulder. She reached up, smeared her blood from her eyes, and adjusted her aim.

For once, Ronon didn't argue, he just turned and ran to Beckett and his charges.

When he stopped next to them, he saw Sheppard sliding from his litter and just about falling to the ground as his legs gave way. As his nest of warm blankets fell away, one of Beckett's people grabbed John's filthy jacket to keep him upright.

McKay was already on his feet, swaying slightly as he tried to gather himself for what lay in the town.

Sheppard's eyes had a distant look and his face was pale, but he nodded his head at the Satedan and feebly pulled his borrowed gun from his leg holster.

"Run and don't stop for anything," was the only advice Ronon had for them.

Beckett's people looked anxious, but Carson just pulled his sidearm and nodded for Ronon to lead the way.

They started off in a staggering run, with McKay and Sheppard each held upright by strong hands. For the most part, McKay and Sheppard's legs wouldn't work, and they each ended up being dragged along.

For those in the big blue suits, it was like running a strange sack race. Every step made the extra bulk puff with air and attempt to wrap around their legs.

They hit the edge of the mob with Ronon howling a garbled battle cry that brought to mind bloody battlefields and old soldiers. He swung his sword in wide arcs to keep the closest threats away. His blaster was held ready to shoot anyone that pointed anything that looked like a weapon at them.

Teyla met them halfway as she snapped off single shots at the ground in front of the wild mob to discourage them from a full out attack.

"The nurses are keeping the door open for you," she said as she backpedaled to keep her eyes on her targets.

Carson looked up to see his two nurses in their blue contamination suits at the medical facility's entrance; one was holding a 9 mil and the other was gripping the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut when they reached the safety of the building.

They had almost made it when the woman with the knife, from the first incident, jumped forward and tried to drag Sheppard from the safety of their group.

"You! Where were you? Where were your weapons when my children were taken!" screamed the wild woman as she tried to pull John closer and push him away at the same time to get her blade into his flesh.

Against Ronon's order, Beckett's people stopped and tried to drag Sheppard back. John hissed as his arms began to complain at the tug of war between the two factions. At the same time, he was trying to pierce his lethargy long enough to bring up his gun.

John had barely moved when there was a loud thunk and the crazed woman flew backward, her hair flying.

With the pull gone, Sheppard and the two medical men holding on to him collapsed onto the ground with grunts.

Ronon was snarling at the woman from his protective position by Sheppard, his battle sword pointed at her head. "Mine is bigger."

The woman dropped her knife and fled, taking some of the mob with her.

When the mob flowed back from the team, Ronon jerked Sheppard up from the ground, not trusting Beckett's people to keep his team leader safe enough for the rest of the trip.

The two men that had been helping Sheppard pushed themselves awkwardly to their feet, and the ragged group staggered along with the howling mob snapping at their heels.

When they finally reached the building, they all but flung themselves into the opening and landed hard on the floor.

After the door was slammed shut by the nurse, all that could be heard was the harsh breathing of the Atlantis personnel as they lay slumped together.

Sheppard rolled away from the group onto his side and hugged himself tightly. "Doc . . . I could really . . . use that coffee now."

-------

Sheppard didn't get his coffee right away. Instead, he and Rodney were whisked into the facility's rudimentary showers, and scrubbed to within an inch of their lives.

"Ow! Carson, what—that hurts! Stop that! Carson!" shouted McKay as one of the blue suited nurses used a rough washcloth to scrub his naked back as he held his burned hands above the water spray.

"Settle down, Rodney. We have to make sure you're clean."

McKay grunted again as his nurse tried to scrub the hair from his head.

Sheppard was not as vocal he stood naked as a jaybird as his nurse in blue worked on washing the blood and mud off his neck and arms, before moving on. He was groggily tilted against the side of the shower, his eyes almost completely closed from the soothing warmth of the water.

"Clean?" squawked McKay as another tender place was scrubbed. "I don't think I've ever been this clean. What is going on?"

Carson, also still in his contamination suit, was standing just outside the showers with clean towels and sets of warm clothing. "I had a wee talk with the Director when I first arrived and found out that the swamps have been used as a dumping ground for years."

The nurse turned McKay around and he tried to protect what was left of his modesty. "Dumping ground!" he squawked.

Over the pounding water, no one heard Sheppard snort faintly at McKay's yell.

"Aye, I tried to get a list of what's out there, but they don't seem to know how to keep records. So, we're going with the basics for now. Get you clean, get you warm, put you on oxygen, take care of your injuries and then do a few tests."

The two exhausted men were wrestled from the showers and dried.

"Hey, watch it! Do I know you? I don't think so," said McKay snottily as his nurse stepped a little too close. "What were they dumping? Please tell me they weren't stupid enough to dump anything radioactive."

Carson shook his head. "No, thank goodness! But, from what I can gather, it's a noxious brew out there very similar to what would be in landfills and sewers back on Earth."

The doctor ignored the gagging sounds coming from Rodney.

"It's also probably how you got these burns. I believe someone mentioned a few explosions in the swamp while you were gone missing?"

Rodney stopped gagging and his eyes lit up. "Methane. That's the reason for the oxygen?"

"Aye, and you were lucky you didn't blow your bloody head off."

McKay glared at him. "Well, I didn't have many options out there! It seemed like the thing to do when I tried to shoot that Wraith."

This time they did hear Sheppard snickering which ended in a coughing fit.

"Oh, shut up! I didn't see you coming up with any brilliant plans out there, Colonel," groused Rodney as the nurse helped him pull on a set of blue sweats.

If John had been able to process everything that was happening, he would have mocked McKay's plan. Now, he was just lucky to be standing upright as his nurse pushed and pulled him into a set of black sweats.

Both men were hustled off to warm beds, oxygen and warm liquids.

Carson then called for Teyla.

"Doctor, I am fine. There is just a small cut on my forehead," protested the Athosian leader as she stood by the medical facility's door.

Beckett came from behind the rigged curtain. "That may be, but you were also in that swamp, and also exposed. You'll need to wash and change your clothes before we get samples from you as well."

The woman sighed and unclipped her P-90. "Not a word," she warned Ronon as the warrior grinned widely.

"Not so fast," said Carson to the grinning man. "You came into close contact with the Colonel during the run. You'll have to scrub down as well."

Teyla actually laughed as she moved to use the showers first.

Beckett smiled briefly until he remembered that they were supposed to contact Atlantis and advise them when the Colonel and McKay were recovered. He stepped to one of the small windows to see that the mob still milled outside with some members now carrying weapons and broken fence posts.

It didn't look too likely that they would be able to reach the gate to get a message to Weir without taking some kind of physical damage in the process.

Beckett only hoped that Elizabeth got worried enough to open the stargate to contact them first, before it was too late.

He was also agonized over not being able to help the town's survivors with their injured. The healer in him wanted to fling the door open and let them all in, but even he could tell that the mob's hysteria had taken on a deadly edge.

Carson promised himself, after the Colonel and McKay were seen to; he would try to get some supplies to the desperate people that surrounded the building.

---------

Later, after Sheppard and Rodney's injuries had been cared for and they were warmed up with blankets and liquids, they were both getting oxygen and slightly drowsing.

Teyla was once again standing guard, but this time she was in a set of bright pink sweats with her hair still slightly damp from her shower. The small white bandage that covered her cut from the thrown rock was standing out against her darker skin tone.

Beckett had tried to convince her to take one of the empty beds and use the oxygen, but she refused. Beckett's people were battle ready, but they were not experienced enough to be on guard without someone watching over them.

Especially since their movements and vision were hampered by the bulky blue suits.

Ronon rumbled something to one of the medical men from nearby, and Teyla allowed herself to smirk at the look of the Satedan warrior.

She sneaked another look at Ronon's periwinkle sweat pants and his bare chest.

After his shower, the man had been so scandalized by the color of the offered pants that he had refused to wear the sweatshirt, stubbornly saying he preferred a bare chest to humiliation.

Ronon had then rearmed himself, grabbed his radio and stalked off to stare moodily out of the windows.

He was still leaning against the wall next to one of the small windows, keeping one eye on the outside and one eye on Beckett's people as they moved uneasily from place to place with their guns.

They were all on edge after Beckett had tried to send out supplies to the people. The offer had been greeted with weapons' fire and shouts. The supplies had been quickly dropped outside and the facility door slammed shut again.

The people had quickly dismantled the pile and the supplies carried off.

It didn't take long for the mob to start screaming for more.

And there was precious little left.

Carson shook his head sadly and tried to tune out the screams as he focused on the few tests he could run with the equipment he brought from Atlantis.

He wasn't just worried about the possible chemical and gas exposure—he was also concerned with the nasty little microorganisms that may have worked their way down into the cuts and burns of his patients.

And the possibility that Sheppard and McKay could have infected Teyla and Ronon in the rush to get away from the crowd.

Carson just hoped he had enough time to finish his tests before the angry townspeople tried to storm the building.

The doctor was leaning in to read the results of his first two tests when the shattering of glass surprised him. Carson turned to see several men crawling through a broken window, ignoring the cuts from the jagged glass.

Ronon was there with his sword before the men advanced too far, but another window shattered on the other side of the room.

More people came, some stopping to grab at the extra blankets and remaining supplies from Atlantis while others went straight for the attack.

Teyla brought up with her P-90. "Colonel! Dr. McKay!" she called in warning as she fired a burst in the close confines of the building.

Carson yelled for his nurses to get the waking patients to the relative safety of the floor.

McKay was reluctant to be protected by a nurse, but with his hands bandaged, he wouldn't be much help. He allowed himself to be pushed against the wall as the bed was tipped over as a barrier in front of them.

Sheppard, on the other hand, was awake enough to be demanding a gun from his nurse. She used the extra weight of her suit and his weakness to fight him to the floor so she could also tip over his bed for protection.

The men on the medical team were trying to get off shots in the close quarters without hitting their own people, but the situation was rapidly becoming a free for all fight to the death.

Beckett had grabbed his own gun and braced himself to take the life from some of these desperate people.

He was lining up for his first shot when he felt a weight on his back and a sharp pain across his right shoulder.

Carson was about to call out to Teyla when he heard a strangled scream and then everything went dark . . .

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

A/N: If any of my medical stuff is accurate, it is purely by accident.

A/N2: I thought this would be the last chapter, but I was wrong. At least one more chapter to this story after this one.

Beta: J.A.B.

Spoilers: The Hot Zone, etc.

-------

"Damn it," croaked Sheppard as he watched the confrontation between the Atlantis teams and the townspeople turn bloody.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. They had come looking for trading partners—friends—not to kill the desperate survivors of a Wraith culling.

Sheppard's nurse grabbed his arm and dragged him closer to McKay and his nurse. Both nurses were still armed and were doing their best to protect their little corner of the pandemonium. Their containment suits weren't helping, as they had to turn their whole body to see the fighting on both sides of the room.

"Give me a damn gun!" Sheppard tried to bark over the rising noise.

His nurse didn't look at him, but McKay did. "I don't think they want us in the fight! I'm feeling a little naked over here without a gun!"

John shook his head and tried to pull himself up, only to have his nurse push him down with her one free hand. She didn't see Sheppard's scowl as she turned away to peer over the barrier at the combatants.

There was a strangled scream close by, causing Sheppard to turn sharply to the right. He hauled his aching body far enough to see past the beds.

One of Beckett's team was clutching at his chest as a townsman stood by him holding a raised fence post, its aged wood running with darkening blood.

John only had a second to recognize the man in blue containment suit as one of the men who had helped carry him back to town, before bright blood began leaking from the medical man's mouth. There was choking sounds and coughing. Fresh blood splattered across the inside of the contamination suit hood.

It was only a moment before the Atlantis man fell to the floor—unmoving, a gaping opening in his containment suit.

One thought kept pounding in Sheppard's head—he didn't even know the man's name.

John's nurse slipped past him and ducked over to the downed man. She all but ripped the containment hood off him as she tried to find signs of life.

The nurse slowed her frantic search and hung her head.

John knew the man was dead. He half crawled, half pulled himself over to the nurse and put a hand on her arm. "Get back!"

He pushed at her as hard as he could, getting her started to the protection of the barricades, her shock evident by her clumsy movements. John took a second to stare down at the dead man, his eyes open and staring, before ripping the bloody radio from the man's ear and prying the 9 mil from his gloved hand.

"Sorry," Sheppard muttered. "Sorry I didn't know your name."

Teyla had seen Carson go down and was using her P-90's butt as a club to clear a path to him. Next to the table the doctor had been using as a desk, Beckett was face down on the floor, the window to his hood fogged in front of his slack face. She could only spare a moment to check him before she was forced to continue picking her shots in the crowded room.

John crawled as far as the bed barricade before turning and coming to rest on his left hip. With carefully banked fury, he started picking his targets and bringing down several of the threats to his remaining personnel.

He'd just lost one man and he didn't want to lose another on this 'peaceful' mission.

Across the room, Ronon was still holding his battle sword, but was mainly using his blaster to bring down as many attackers as he could.

Barely heard over the din of the desperate fight there came the pop-hiss of their radios.

"Dr. Beckett, this is Weir. Please respond."

Without taking his eyes off the fight or lowering his gun, John awkwardly managed to wiggle behind the barricade to avoid the crude gunfire of the crowd. "Elizabeth?" he asked in surprise as he ducked away from the pinging of bullets off the frame of the bed.

"John? What's going on?"

"We're being overrun by the townspeople in the medical facility. We have two people down, maybe more. We're taking fire and we need immediate extraction!"

After the pinging stopped over his head, John rose up to shoot. His left hand pinched as he brought up his gun, and he angrily tore off his bandage before looking for a target.

John's eye was drawn to Teyla as she was tackled from behind, taking her to the floor. Sheppard was about to try for a shot when Teyla used the fingers of her left hand to poke over her shoulder at the woman's eyes. With a scream, the attacking woman rolled away, and Teyla regained her position over the unconscious Dr. Beckett.

There was a loud bang close by and Sheppard turned to see McKay and his nurse being attacked by two men. One was already wounded by the nurse's gunshot, but the other man had gotten close enough to grab the woman's gloved gun hand and had it twisted toward the ceiling.

McKay tried head butting the man back over the bed barrier, but the stocky attacker wasn't budging.

"John? I'm sending in Lorne. Just hold on," said Weir in John's ear.

Sheppard didn't answer her as he lined up his shot and waited. When the nurse and McKay were out of the line of fire, he shot.

The man went down in a spray of blood.

"Hurry," John muttered as he shifted to look for a new target.

--------

"Major Lorne," called Elizabeth Weir over her radio as she stood by the gate tech. "I need you and two teams on P2M-649 immediately."

When Lorne replied, he was clearly out of breath. "Ma'am, do we know the situation?"

"No, Major. The Colonel only had time to report two people down, and to request an immediate extraction." She paused, trying not to let her worry creep into her voice. "He said they were taking fire. I can only guess it's bad at the medical facility."

"Understood," snapped out Lorne as he cut off his radio.

-------

It didn't take the two rescue teams but a few moments to gather at the Puddle Jumpers, and to go through the gate. The only sounds were the rattling of equipment and the noise of gun checks in the Jumpers, as they got ready to rescue their people.

After they cleared the gate, they circled around the town in stealth mode until they picked out a central building with a large crowd gathered around it.

There were some individuals using wooden posts to beat at the remaining glass windows and the door.

The angry scene below stunned Lorne. Frowning, the Major turned on his radio to talk to his teams.

"We're going in by rope. I want Team 1 making a path through that crowd, and I don't care how you do it. Team 2, you get our people out. Mosby and Bowden, stay by the Jumpers' controls until I call for you," he said as he glared out the front window of the Puddle Jumper.

There were sharp acknowledgements from his teams as the back hatches of the Jumpers were lowered, and ropes thrown out.

Just before Lorne took the rope in his gloved hands, he touched his radio. "Colonel Sheppard? If you can hear me, we're coming in. Try to meet us half way."

-------

Inside the building, Sheppard heard Lorne, and breathed a sign of relief.

"Damn it," muttered John as he let his hazel eyes take in the members of both his team and the medical team. His gate team, except for McKay, was still in the thick of the fight. The remaining members of Beckett's team were trying to help, but their contamination suits were slowing them down.

Sheppard used the bed to pull himself higher and waved at Ronon to catch his attention.

Ronon had also heard the message from Lorne, and he just nodded to his team leader and continued using his energy weapon.

John turned to look at Teyla. "Door!"

She tilted her head in understanding and turned to speak to one of Beckett's team. Warily, they both bent down to grab the doctor. They started dragging him to the exit, their guns at the ready.

"Pack it up! We're leaving!" Sheppard yelled for the benefit of those without radios, or those too busy trying to stay alive, to hear Lorne's communication.

No one answered his yelled orders, but all of the personnel started moving slowly toward the door, trying to keep the wild townspeople at bay.

Sheppard didn't move from his position on the floor. He kept his gun up and watched as McKay and the two nurses pressed themselves to the wall and began edging away to the safety of the waiting Marines.

McKay turned to look John in the eyes, and then said something sharply to the nurse that was supposed to be watching Sheppard. The nurse nodded and came back. She wrapped one of her gloved hands around John's upper arm and helped him to his feet.

"Colonel, Dr. McKay wants me to make sure you make it to the door."

He nodded to the scared woman. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

As they left the beds, and what was left of their supplies, the mob turned from fighting to pillaging.

Putting away his sword, Ronon pushed open the door to meet the first two Marines who had made it through the rampaging crowd and to the building's doorway.

The Marines had cut a path through the townspeople, leaving bloody and unconscious forms as they cleared the way for the Atlantis staff.

The remainder of Beckett's team helped the injured out of the building and into the daylight, as the soldiers from the second team arrived to escort them to the waiting Jumpers.

As the teams staggered along, the rushing people trying to get into the abandoned building swarmed them. When they finally made it to open ground, a pissed looking Major Lorne greeted them.

"Good to see you, Lorne," gasped Sheppard as his group struggled along. "I hope you brought extra for the rest of the class." He nodded at Lorne's P-90.

"Yes, sir. Plenty to go around in the Jumpers."

"Good. I want all those exposed to the possible contamination in one Jumper and all the rest in the other," said Sheppard as they reached the Puddle Jumpers hovering in the sky.

"Sir—"

"Did you bring suits with you? Major, we still don't know . . . if we have anything to catch. We go in one, you go in the other."

Lorne turned away from his CO and glared as the crowd rushed into the now empty building, leaving the Atlantis crew alone for the moment. "Okay, guys, fall back. Let's get out while the getting is good."

First one Jumper, and then the next, landed, picking up the teams.

"Colonel Sheppard? Dr. Beckett?"

Sheppard was helped by his nurse to the chair just behind the pilot's seat. He all but collapsed into its softness with a groan. "Elizabeth, I'm here."

The voice over the radio came back stronger. "And Dr. Beckett?"

"He's here, but he's unconscious." John paused as he watched the three remaining men of Beckett's team carry Carson to one of the benches. They tried to put him down but the bulk of his big blue suit was getting in the way, leaving Carson tilted at a funny angle.

"And Rodney?"

Sheppard allowed himself a wan smile. "He's here."

McKay staggered over to lean heavily on John's chair. "Elizabeth, I'm here. Are we coming back home?" The hope in his voice was noticeable even to the newer personnel.

There was a pause. "Rodney, Carson said you couldn't come back until he was sure the city wouldn't lock down. Did he finish his tests?"

"Uh, no. But—"

John cut Rodney's words off. "Elizabeth, I'm sending the second Jumper back to Atlantis. We'll try our luck with the Alpha site or one of the backups."

Major Lorne all but stomped up to the front of the Jumper past Sheppard and McKay. He sat down in the pilot's chair, moving Bowden over to the co-pilot seat.

"Major," growled Sheppard.

"You're going to need someone who can fly this thing and has the energy left to scout whatever place we pick to hold up. Me and Bowden are coming."

John sighed heavily. Between Ronon, Teyla, McKay and Lorne—was there anyone who ever followed his orders?

"The Alpha site was compromised two days ago. You can't go there," said Weir in a clipped tone. "Try the first backup site. I'll see if I can get more medical equipment and supplies to you there once you report back on the situation."

Sheppard looked at McKay. Both were worn, tired and carried marks from their time on P2M-649. John's slashed face and cut hand were starting to throb in the aftermath of the fight. McKay just looked ready to curl up and sleep on the floor.

At Sheppard's look, McKay shrugged, too tired to make any other suggestion. Suddenly hungry, Rodney turned his head to find his nurse. "Hey, you. The one that happily scrubbed off most of my skin. I need a PowerBar before my blood sugar drops any lower."

John turned away, trying to ignore the rummaging by the nurse for Rodney's favorite PowerBar flavor. He was trying to concentrate on making a plan with Elizabeth, but he was feeling the pull of his exhaustion and his budding headache.

He blinked heavily and rubbed his forehead. "Okay, we'll go to the first backup site. You may have to send through more medical personnel. Beckett is still out and . . . we lost one of his people."

Sheppard wanted to add that the body had been left behind, but he couldn't see how they could go back for it now. He hated leaving like this.

"Okay, I'll send a few people over. Stay safe, John." Weir's voice was soft with understanding when she replied, knowing the death would be hard on them all. "Oh, and Major?"

Lorne sat up straight at the Jumper controls. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Keep both Jumpers together."

Lorne lifted his chin with a grin. "Yes, Dr. Weir!"

Sheppard just sighed from behind him.

-------

Carson Beckett woke to a pounding headache, a complaining shoulder, and the low voices of two men.

"I am a major in the Air Force. I think I can handle this."

"I hope so; he was starting to mope about it. He'll be impossible to work with. It's like he's lost his girlfriend."

There was a low chuckle. "Don't you feel close to yours, McKay?"

There was an indignant snort. "I check it out, go on a mission and check it back in. I don't get all misty eyed or give it female names from TV shows, like the two of you."

Lorne and McKay—and they weren't at each other's throats.

Carson tried to put a hand to his head but was stopped by his suit. The soft pop of his hand against the material caused the two voices to stop.

"Hey, Doc. How're you feeling," asked Lorne as he moved closer to help Carson sit up from his awkward position.

Beckett immediately regretted it when his head tried to explode. He just prayed he wouldn't throw up in the suit.

A reddened face appeared. "Oh, Carson, you're awake. Here, let me . . . uh," McKay looked down at his bandaged hands for a moment in consternation. "Never mind. Major, could you? He's tipping over that way."

Lorne tightened his grip on Carson and tried to prop the doctor against the side of the Jumper. "You've been out for a while, Doc."

Carson squinted at the Major for a second and then used his doctor's voice to cover his pain. "I'm fine, I suppose. What happened? Where're the others?"

Lorne moved slightly and pointed over his shoulder. "We evac'ed to one of the backup sites. The Colonel is supposed to be running the scouting operation, but I think he's sleeping," said Lorne in a faintly amused tone.

Carson could see John sitting sideways in one of the cockpit chairs with a vest over his sweatshirt and a P-90 across his knees.

Beckett frowned as he noticed the faint sheen of sweat in the Colonel's hair, and his finger on the P-90's trigger.

"Oh, don't worry, Doc. I made sure it's not loaded," said Lorne. "Teyla and Ronon are outside taking a look to the east while some of the Marines are scouting to the west. Making sure there are no nasty surprises around before Weir sends through the new supplies and support."

"Looking for something to shoot," contradicted McKay.

Lorne raised a shoulder. "Most likely," he conceded as he thought of the looks on Ronon and Teyla's faces when they left.

Neither of the warriors were in a good mood when they left the Jumper to scout the area. Teyla had just walked out after stuffing her new vest with ammunition. Ronon had stripped out of his periwinkle sweatpants and traded it for an extra desert patterned Marine uniform from one of the bins, before he joined Teyla outside with a snarl.

Both were keeping their radio contact with Lorne to a minimum in case there were unfriendlies in the area.

And they knew that the Colonel was finally sleeping instead of trying to run the whole operation, while he was clearly not well.

Beckett turned his head to look for his own team. He saw one of the Marines, Bowden, and his medical personnel looking at him with mournful eyes, and Carson began to get a sinking feeling in his chest.

The doctor pushed past his headache and mentally counted heads. The medical team was one short. "Where's Gentry?"

Lorne and McKay immediately looked at the floor, all humor over the Colonel gone in a flash.

"He . . . he didn't make it, Carson," said McKay in a monotone.

Carson felt the words like a fist to his gut.

Before anyone could add any details there was a pop-hiss of the radios.

"Major Lorne, the stargate has been activated," reported Teyla's deceptively calm voice.

The Major left Beckett to go to the front of the Jumper to stand close to Sheppard. "Dr. Weir was waiting for our report before sending in the troops, I don't know who—"

"Colonel Sheppard," boomed a voice over the radios, causing the sleeping Colonel to shift in his chair with a groan.

Sheppard came awake fast when Lorne's hand grabbed one of John's aching shoulders in alarm.

The voice on the radios was not Dr. Weir's.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

A/N: If any of my medical stuff is accurate, it is purely by accident.  
A/N2: This is the way I had it planned, so there you go. I still think I'm missing out on some of the potential whump, but I gave it the ol' college try. Last Chapter!  
Beta: J.A.B.  
Spoilers: Oh, heck, it could be for any of Season 1 or Season 2.

-------

The Wraith.

John was not feeling so good as fire seemed to run in his veins like molten lead. He was worried about his people but didn't know if he had the strength left to deal with anything more. He was so tired and felt like he'd been beaten with a baseball bat.

"Colonel Sheppard!" The voice cut into his brain, making his headache even worse.

He jumped in reaction to the pain as a hand clamped down on one of his strained shoulders.

Sheppard looked up into the alien eyes of a grinning Wraith and started to struggle as it leered at him. He gasped when the grinning face suddenly morphed into Gentry's slack and bloody one.

Blood was everywhere—covering the face, covering his own hands as he tried to push the figure away . . .

"Sir?"

The hand on his shoulder tightened as John felt himself almost tip out of a . . . chair?

"Colonel?"

The face changed again and settled into the concerned features of Major Lorne. "Sir? Are you okay?"

"What?" John blinked hard and grabbed sluggishly as his P-90 started to slide off his lap.

"Sir, the gate's been activated . . . and someone's calling you. It's not Weir and I don't think it's from Atlantis." Lorne kept his hand on Sheppard's shoulder long enough to help his CO struggle upright, then stepped back to give him his space.

Sheppard coughed to clear his throat and then touched his radio. "This is Colonel Sheppard."

There was not an immediate answer and John turned to look at the rest of the personnel still in the Jumper. Most of them were uneasily looking at the floor.

McKay, on the other hand, had a worried and painful grimace on his reddened face. Beckett also had a worried look on his face behind the window of his hood on the blue containment suit he still wore.

The both of them knew who was calling and they knew that John would not be happy.

"Who?" asked the Colonel as he shifted again in the seat, trying to regain his mental balance after the vivid nightmare and his sudden return to reality.

"Colonel—" started Carson and then he subsided, his face going from outrage to grief to pity. "Please, they need help."

John had his answer and they were right; he didn't like it a bit. "Oh, hell no," he rasped. "No."

Carson opened his mouth to object, but Sheppard turned his burning eyes from the doctor to Major Lorne. "Get us to the gate. Now."

"Sir, we really should stay—"

John sat up straight and wiped a hand over his moist face, and then he checked his P-90. "Who the hell took . . . my ammo?" he asked grumpily.

Lorne cleared his throat. "Uh, I'll give it back, sir."

"Damn right," muttered Sheppard as he grabbed the clips the Major held out after fumbling in his vest. "Call the recon teams and inform them . . . to sit tight while we go to the gate." At the answering silence, the Colonel looked up in irritation as he slapped one of the clips into the P-90. "Now, Major."

"Yes, sir."

The short trip back to the gate in the Jumper was tense for everyone.

--------

John was determined to meet this situation head on, as he staggered like a drunk to the back hatch of the Jumper. He grumbled in frustration as Beckett and Lorne pushed past him to block the way to the exit.

"Colonel, you're in no condition to be traipsing around out there," said Beckett as he listed to the side, guarding his own hurt shoulder and head.

"You've got a lot of room . . . to talk, Doc. You need to sit down."

There was a wheeze to John's voice that the doctor didn't like. "Colonel—"

John turned his hard gaze from Carson to Lorne. "Major, I like you. Really. But if you don't get out of my way, I'll make sure you're doing nothing . . . but babysitting scientists on the lower levels of Atlantis . . . for the rest of your tour."

"Carson," a resigned McKay said from his reclining position on one of the Jumper benches. "He's going one way or another. Just get out of his way and let him play the hero. I'm sure he'll faint any minute now."

Sheppard furrowed his brow at Rodney's comment but didn't look at McKay just in case he was that close to fainting.

If the gray licking at the sides of his vision were to be believed, he was that close to hitting the ground.

The doctor sighed and then stepped reluctantly out of the Colonel's way. "Just . . . be careful, Colonel. You're more run down than you know."

John just clattered down the hatch and out onto the ground, which was covered in blue-green grass and pink flowers the size of dimes.

Teyla and Ronon were already standing in front of the active gate, their weapons raised. That pleased the Colonel to no end and he also raised his P-90 after making sure it was securely clipped to his vest.

Just in case he did faint. Sheppard didn't want to lose another P-90 on this trip.

John touched his radio again. "This is Colonel Sheppard."

"Colonel Sheppard! I demand that you honor our treaty by immediately returning with medical supplies and doctors."

John narrowed his eyes and tried to ignore the new heat radiating from the skin of his face and neck. "Director. Just how did you track us down?"

"I had a suspicion that you and your people would leave us in our time of need. I had the Portal watched and your address memorized by one of the townspeople."

"Would that be one of the same townspeople . . . that tried to kill us?" asked John, his anger rising along with his headache.

"We were just trying to get what the treaty promised us. Medical treatment and supplies. I demand that you provide it now."

Flabbergasted, Sheppard allowed his P-90 to drop and swing from its clip. "You demand?" He absently wiped away sweat as it stung his eyes. "You demand? Your people rushed us . . . overran my team, and killed one of Dr. Beckett's medical team. Someone who was just there to help with the injured. Forgive me if I say hell no . . . we're not upholding the treaty."

"I demand—"

John shifted and wavered in place for a moment. "You know where you can . . . shove your demand?"

"Dr. Weir promised—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be sure to pass your demands on to Dr. Weir the next time . . . I speak to her. Now, don't call us, we'll call you."

With that, Sheppard ripped the radio from his ear and turned to Beckett and Lorne. "Major, anyone comes through that gate that's not from Atlantis . . . shoot them. Doc, get that look off your face. You're not going . . . back there."

"Colonel, think of the women and—"

"It was a woman who tried to stab me, remember?" Sheppard's hard gaze pinned the doctor to the spot. "No one is going back there, got it?"

"Yes, sir!" responded Lorne. He wanted the conversation over and his CO in the Jumper before the man dropped. It wasn't good to have the ranking military officer faint on your watch.

Beckett only nodded, his face troubled.

Sheppard looked around absently, surprised that a voice was missing from the conversation. "Where's Rodney?"

Carson allowed a small smile. "He decided to get some sleep before his body shuts down completely. You should do the same, Colonel. You're looking a bit pale."

"I'm . . . fine, Doc."

"Colonel," warned Teyla as she saw a shape tumble through the wavering puddle of the gate.

Ronon almost fired until he recognized the blue color of a contamination suit. His impassive face showed a surprising fury as the figure bounced down the gate steps. He turned to look at Sheppard, waiting for an order, but got a shock when his team leader listed to the side.

John only had a moment to realize that it was Gentry's body that lay on the ground, before his headache turned into a fuzzy fog. He could feel himself falling, but didn't feel any pain as a strong hand grabbed the back of his vest.

Ronon lifted him into his arms and ran for the Puddle Jumper, Teyla and Beckett right behind him, leaving Lorne to deal with Gentry's body.

-------

Things were hazy for a time, but he did know he was hot, wet and uncomfortable. Voices he did and didn't recognize would talk to him and he would ask about his team, but he couldn't stay lucid long enough to hear their answer.

And when he wasn't hazy, he was throwing up. Even after all his stomach contents were gone, his body was still trying to turn his guts inside out. Each wrench of his stomach made the torn skin on his face and his bruised abdomen throb in agony.

It was a long time before he was aware of another person close by, and he turned his head to see Rodney in a bed next to him. The scientist was curled up in a ball, agony on his burned face as he tried to hold back his own sickness with will alone.

"Rodney," croaked Sheppard with his acid burned vocal cords. He looked down to see that his black sweats were gone, replaced with rust colored scrubs and there was an IV pinching his skin. Other more irritating tubes were in places that the Colonel didn't want to think at the moment.

Rodney peeled open a glazed eye to look at his friend. "You're back."

"I've . . . been gone?"

Rodney coughed and grimaced, the movement allowing John to see that McKay was also in the hated scrubs. "You've been everywhere but here."

Before Sheppard could ask what he meant, Dr. Beckett bustled up—without the containment suit—and wearing a sling on his right arm.

"Ah, Colonel, we've been waiting for you to wake up." The doctor picked up his chart and made a left-handed notation. "How do you feel?"

John slowly shook his head trying to feel out his headache, but it was gone. "Disoriented. Dry," he rasped.

Beckett put down the chart while Sheppard looked at the canvas ceiling of a large field tent. "You've been a very sick man, Colonel. You and Rodney."

"Not contagious? Teyla and Ronon?"

Carson looked down at John and smiled. "No, you two weren't contagious after the first three days. You both had some complications of hypothermia, and infections from your wounds." The doctor canted his head. "Teyla and Ronon don't seem the worse for having contact with you two. You, however, have been out for almost five days now, Colonel. We were beginning to worry."

John frowned at the length of time. "Hell, now I'm beginning . . . to worry."

Carson chuckled. "No need, the worst seems to be over. You'll both be weak for a while and will still need to heal, but otherwise you'll both be fine given time."

"Except for that scar on your face," muttered Rodney one bed over.

John tried to smile. "Hey, the chicks dig that kind of thing."

Rodney ignored the reply and turned to Beckett. "He's awake now, Carson. Can we go home now?" whined McKay, his eyes still bright with the remnants of his fever.

"Yes, Rodney. We can go home now."

-------

The trip back to Atlantis was uneventful.

Elizabeth met them in the Jumper Bay and gave them updates on what was happening in the city. Mainly just as an excuse to keep close and get a good look at the two sick men.

Rodney spent the rest of the time to the infirmary bitching about how his unsupervised flying lab monkeys had messed up his work while he was gone.

For once, John wasn't going to sweat it. His people knew their jobs and he trusted Elizabeth enough as a leader to make sure everything was running smoothly in the absence of three of her senior advisors.

As they were getting settled, and the privacy screens moved into place, Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and intently stared at John.

"What?"

"Carson told me about your little talk with the Director on P2M-649. I contacted him and he was not a happy man."

"Tough."

"John—"

"Look, I know we need allies, but I'm not going to deal with someone who organized a mob and betrayed us." His voice lowered in case Carson was listening. "They killed Gentry."

Elizabeth sighed and softened her stance. "I know, but they were under extreme stress from the culling."

John just gave her a stubborn look.

"Okay, fine. I'll have Major Lorne continue the talks with them. You won't have to."

"Good," replied Sheppard. It was hard not to have a sarcastic and snotty edge to the word.

Elizabeth suddenly wondered as she looked at John's frowning face if Teyla ever felt like a mother trying to keep up with unruly little boys.

Most likely.

-------

It was three long weeks of visits from their teammates and friends before McKay and Sheppard were allowed out of the infirmary unsupervised. They still were not at 100 percent, but they were close enough to go back on light duty.

Rodney was going straight for the mess for a second lunch when Sheppard lightly grabbed him by the collar and steered him toward his science labs.

"Uh, Carson said no labs today." McKay tried to keep his hands still, mainly from habit, but his fingers still twitched as he looked longingly over his shoulder at the hall that led to the food.

John put a friendly arm on McKay's left shoulder. "You won't be doing anything that the Doc will object to."

McKay frowned as Sheppard smiled, the new creases in the skin causing the new scar on the Colonel's face to shine in the light of the city.

"Hey, you still have that roll of quarters I gave you?"

"What?"

"The U.S. quarters I gave you—do you still have them?" Sheppard's voice was light and needling, his smile still wide even as Rodney stared at him as if he'd lost his marbles.

"No, no, I think they were in the vest I left back on P2M-649." McKay automatically twisted toward the gateroom to gesture, but the arm on his left shoulder kept him from stopping. "Why?"

They turned the corner to face a small alcove close to the doorway of McKay's main lab. Inside loomed a large, rectangular object covered in a NFL flat sheet decorated with little footballs and team logos.

Rodney snorted in amusement, knowing who's sheet it was given the kid-like nature of the man beside him.

"Surprise," said John with a flourish as he dragged McKay closer to the . . . thing.

At the same time, Rodney was trying to crawl over John to get away from whatever it was. "You know I don't like surprises."

With one hand on Rodney, Sheppard reached out and flipped the sheet to the floor.

Rodney was left with his mouth hanging open in awe.

A candy machine.

Filled with—he stepped closer to check—yes, nothing but chocolate and chocolate-coated things. Not a cheese cracker or pretzel in sight.

"What . . . how . . . when?"

John laughed and Rodney realized it was the first one he'd heard from the Colonel since the mob attack on P2M-649.

"I promised you." Sheppard stepped closer to the machine and pulled out a small bag from his pocket. He tossed it over his shoulder to McKay. "Came in on the Daedalus last week. Do you know what I had to go through to keep your scientists from finding out about this? And what they'll do to me when they find out? Just a whiff of chocolate is like blood in the water around here."

"Colonel . . . this is . . . this is great." McKay hefted the small bag and pulled open the string. There were bunches of blue metal tokens inside.

John put his hands behind his back and bounced. "They're 'Rodney Tokens.' I had the machine rigged so it only works for them. Just watch your back, though. Once word gets around—"

"This is great," muttered Rodney as he pressed his nose to the glass. "As long as the chocolate doesn't start talking to me . . . uh, never mind. Thank you."

John opened his mouth to ask what Rodney meant, but then just nodded and turned on his heel, humming lightly to himself.

"Colonel, wait!"

John turned so he was walking backwards, his eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Can you . . . can you meet me later in your office? In about an hour?"

Sheppard looked puzzled and shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, I'll be there."

-------

"Are you sure?" asked Rodney for the fourth time as Major Lorne handed over the bundle.

"McKay, if I was any surer I'd use the damn thing myself."

"Okay, fine." McKay huffed out a breath like he was getting ready to fight Wraith. "Are you sure you're sure?"

"McKay!"

"Okay, okay."

-------

While Sheppard waited for McKay to show up at the office, he was kicked back in his chair with his feet on the desk and ignoring the over due paperwork.

It was good to be back in the small and dark room, especially since a few times on the last mission he was pretty damn sure he wasn't going to make it back.

It was quiet and sometimes he liked quiet.

Until McKay walked in the door and suddenly the room seemed to fill with sound.

"Hey, there you are. I was beginning to think you'd decided to stay the night with your new candy machine."

"Ha, very funny." McKay looked in embarrassment at the chocolate bar in his left hand with the torn open wrapper. "I was just . . . uh, getting something for you."

John sat up as a small bundle was practically thrown at him. He caught it before it could hit him in the chest. "Oh, Rodney, you didn't have to get me anything because I got you the machine."

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. "I did this before I knew about the machine."

Sheppard looked down and then up at Rodney. "Oh."

"Well, open it."

"Oh!" John put the bundle on the desk and carefully unwrapped the object in the soft cloth.

To reveal a brand new 9 mil.

"You got me a gun?" John asked in an amused tone, the raised eyebrow back.

Rodney pulled up a chair and sat down eagerly, taking a bite of his candy and talking with his mouth full. "Not just any gun. I had Major Lorne and the Marines calibrate or adjust or whatever it is you military types do to guns to make it just like the one you lost in the mud."

Sheppard picked the gun up and made sure it was unloaded before he hefted it. "Wynona?"

"The Major said he knew how you liked it, that you'd discussed it before. And some of the Marines have been on the shooting range with you."

"Wow," whispered Sheppard and he turned his chair away from Rodney to face the wall as he did another check.

It was perfect. A little shinier, a little newer, but perfect.

"I don't know what to say." For a moment, John bit his lip and then he carefully laid the gun back in its soft cloth. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," beamed Rodney for a second and then his nerves got the best of him. "So, uh, I'm going to the mess now. Want to come?"

Sheppard locked up his new Wynona in the bottom drawer of his desk and nodded. "Sure, let's go."

They were half way there when the alarms went off and the radios in their ears piped up.

"Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay, Teyla and Ronon to the gateroom."

Rodney sighed as he shoved the rest of the chocolate in his mouth and put the wrapper in his pocket.

Sheppard shook his head as they both turned from the mess to report to Dr. Weir.

The End!

Whew! I finally finished. Hope y'all enjoyed!


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